


rummaging for answers in the pages

by kittysorceress



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore POV, Albus is obsessed, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Crush at First Sight, Dark Magic, Diary/Journal, Implied Sexual Content, In the name of the Greater Good, M/M, Not A Happy Ending, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Quite a lot of hand-holding, Search for the Deathly Hallows, Slow Burn, Summer of 1899, Teenage boys with superiority complexes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-09-14 17:33:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 37,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16917282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittysorceress/pseuds/kittysorceress
Summary: It is the summer of 1899 and Albus Dumbledore is ready to venture into the great wizarding unknown. Instead, he finds himself at a dead end, keeping house for his siblings in Godric's Hollow. Bored. Lonely. Wasted.That is, until he meets his equal.What words will I use to describe Gellert Grindelwald?He is a wonder. A marvel. A blessing.A collection of Albus's journal entries from the summer of 1899, detailing his adventures and the innermost workings of his mind, from the mundane to the sublime.





	1. Prologue

Saturday, 24 June 1899

Elphias and I are holed up in a small room at the Leaky Cauldron tonight, our last night on British soil before venturing into the great unknown. Elphias is presently repacking his trunk for a fourth time in order to redistribute the weight of his items for ease of carrying. I suggested that he use an Undetectable Extension Charm on a smaller bag, as I have done, but he does not trust the strength of his magic to hold up to the jolting about of portkey travel. I then offered to do the charm for him, but dear Elphias is a proud young man and is determined to make the trunk work under his own steam.

And so, instead, I am enjoying a butterbeer at the tiny desk in the corner, catching up on some last-minute correspondence and starting this very journal while Elphias’s socks and robes fly about the room in relative chaos. 

We are due to take a portkey from the Ministry to Greece shortly after breakfast tomorrow morning. My Aunt Honoria has made arrangements for us to stay with a school friend of hers in Athens before we take a tour of key mythological sites.

I am particularly interested to visit Cithaeron and the Caves of Echo. I have read that Narcissus’s pool outside the larger cave, in which the youth wasted away, was in fact a charmed mirror which showed to him his deepest desire. It sounds like the sort of mythological nonsense which might have some small root in reality, however I cannot find any further reference in my research to a mirror which produces this effect extant in the modern wizarding world.

Ah! I cannot describe the excitement which fills me to finally explore these ideas and theories in person!

I think it is time for a light supper and an early bedtime, though I scarce believe I will be able to sleep for that very excitement which I feel.

A.

* * *

>   _On the very eve of our trip, Albus’s mother, Kendra, died, leaving Albus the head, and sole breadwinner, of the family. … With a younger brother and sister to care for, and little gold left to them, there could no longer be any question of Albus accompanying me._
> 
> \- Albus Dumbledore Remembered by Elphias Doge, July 1997

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this fic is a lyric from ["Us" by Regina Spektor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xzrC72Xv6pE).


	2. Worth the thoughts that run through my head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus comes to terms with the realities of life in Godric's Hollow.

_…when my mother died, and I was left the responsibility of a damaged sister and a wayward brother, I returned to my village in anger and bitterness. Trapped and wasted._

\- Albus Dumbledore, “Kings Cross”, 1998 

* * *

Monday, 3 July 1899

We buried our mother one week ago today.  

Condolences continue to pour in. We cannot see the mantlepiece for flowers.

My every moment is punctuated by a crushing sense of loss, of despair.

Guiltily, I fear that this despair is not for my mother’s death but for my own loss of freedom. I was supposed to be recounting my daring adventures in this journal.

But what adventures can be had from Godric’s Hollow?

Today I can report that I saw the vast reaches of my own garden, explored the deepest depths of our cellar and scaled the highest staircase to my attic bedroom. I encountered the fearsome creature that is Aberforth awoken before midday (Merlin save me from his temper, I hope I was nothing like that at sixteen) and managed to coax the timid Ariana from her bed with the promise of sherbet lemons and new parchment for drawing. Tonight we will be dining on the finest whatever we still have in the larder, a local delicacy.

I am sure you await my next with bated breath.

A.

* * *

Tuesday, 4 July 1899

Two owls this morning. Another belated condolence, followed by an update from Elphias. He has travelled from Athens to Cithaeron, then Parnassus, and is now making his way northwest, toward the Adriatic Sea.

I have no inclination to respond.

The jealousy I feel for the whole situation is entirely unedifying and I doubt any missive which I compose today would be kind.

I wonder if this feeling of being trapped is contributing in any small part? It certainly can’t be helping.

My every waking moment is dedicated to the care of Ariana and Aberforth. If I am not housekeeping, I am writing articles and papers for publication and a measly income. I’m sorting through offers of employment and trying to determine just which career path might destroy my soul the least while bringing in enough Galleons to keep our family fed, clothed and housed.

I wonder if our mother ever felt the same creeping dread that this would be _her_ lifelong existence. 

How on earth did she manage the fear, the desperate loneliness and isolation? It’s been barely two weeks for me – she was a prisoner in her own home for nearly twelve years.

For now, with our mother’s death so recent and Ariana… well, I would not say that she is less stable than before, but there are days when I wonder if she even realises that she caused our mother’s death. She’s unstable and cannot be left alone.

I must find a way to further our income from Godric’s Hollow. I counsel myself that Aberforth has only two years left at Hogwarts, after which we can firmly decide how to proceed into the future. 

I cannot be held captive here forever.

A.

* * *

Wednesday, 5 July 1899

Professor Bagshot invited Ariana and I for tea this morning and I was grateful to have cause to leave the house.

Ariana was in a tolerable mood and happily dressed in her favourite robes. She gathered her latest sketchings and watercolours to show off to Professor Bagshot while I found those few weighty tomes on arithmancy which I had borrowed last week, and we took off into the back garden arm in arm. 

I wish dearly that all of Ariana’s days could be like this.

To avoid our neighbours in the light of day, we made use of a new gate nestled at the rear of the garden among the bushes.  (I must note that I am very impressed by Aberforth’s handiwork: for all of his brutishness, he has both a real talent for manual tasks and an astute understanding of discretion when it comes to Ariana.)

Professor Bagshot met us as we crossed the stream and made our way through the row of hedges at the back of her property. She was gathering herbs from a small plot in the shade, neatly bundling them and arranging them in a basket which she asked Ariana to bring inside.

As the three of us walked up the path to the house, Professor Bagshot engaged Ariana in a conversation about the Abbott family’s new kitten which has strayed into our garden on several occasions in the past week. I was pleased to see how Ariana’s face lit up as she waxed lyrical on the merits of kittens – from their fur to their smallness to their vicious disdain for strings dangled in front of them.

When we sat down to tea in Professor Bagshot’s kitchen, I realised how relieved I am that we still have an adult feminine influence in Ariana’s life. There are many aspects of femaleness which, beyond an academic knowledge of, I have no experience nor interest in. Managing women’s troubles, for instance, for which my knowledge extends to provision of chocolate and generally staying otherwise out of the way.

After tea, while Ariana and the professor spent an hour or so baking cauldron cakes and chattering in the kitchen, I returned the books I had borrowed to their shelves.

In the process, I located a copy of _Magick Moste Evile_ by Godelot. I did not have the chance to read it in any great detail when I had access to the Restricted Section in my later years at Hogwarts, so I was particularly pleased to have come across it.

I fear that my knowledge of the Dark Arts is significantly less than that which I possess of other subjects, a matter which I mean to rectify as soon as possible. Not in order to practice them, of course, but to understand.

For how much magic is born of, or in combat against, the Dark? Can anyone truly understand the Light if they are ignorant of the Dark?

It is a theme that I find possesses my mind more and more of late.

When we departed a little later, Professor Bagshot informed me that she had received a letter from her great-nephew who is intending to come to stay for the summer. She anticipates that he will be arriving before the weekend and has invited us – Ariana, myself and even Aberforth – for dinner on Saturday to make introductions.

“He’s around your age, Albus,” Professor Bagshot told me, clasping a friendly hand on my shoulder and looking at the book under my arm, “and from what he tells me of his ambitions, I daresay you’ll have plenty to talk about. I think you could use a friend.”

Her face softened considerably, with the expression that I learned over the past fortnight means _Poor Albus. Orphan. Wasted._

I am thoroughly sick of it. But I think she might be right.

And maybe I should put my grievances aside and respond to Elphias’ owl after all.

A. 

* * *

Thursday, 6 July 1899

I should have known Ariana’s good mood would not last. This fact, in turn, has put Aberforth in a rage and myself on edge.

And, as a result, our family is currently no longer in possession of a single intact teacup.

The first two in the set were destroyed when Ariana went heels over head after catching her shoe on the rug while coming to the breakfast table. I found myself wearing the better portion of tea from both cups and jumped up, swearing loudly in shock and discomfort at the scalding liquid.

“I can’t do anything right,” wailed Ariana, collecting the fallen shards of china as I scourified my trousers and waistcoat.

Her voice served to rouse our brother, who stormed into the dining room and pointed an accusatory finger at me, bellowing, “WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER NOW?”

And for the first time, I realised just how much taller, how much broader my brother had grown. Suddenly, it was little wonder to me why he ended up the victor in so many of the duels and fist-fights he found himself in at Hogwarts.

I remained outwardly calm but inwardly wary of his wand-hand reaching towards his pocket, “It was just a little accident. Just a little tea spilled, no harm done.”

“Then why is she crying?” Aberforth came closer to me. “What did you _do_ to her?”

“She tripped on the rug. I did nothing.”

“Oh, you did nothing?” Aberforth scoffed. “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe if you were a decent wizard you wouldn’t make your baby sister carry the tea in from the kitchen.”

“If I were a decent wizard?” I was incensed, after all the hours I had put in to the family’s care since I returned. “Who makes your meals? Who washes your laundry? Who is saving every spare Knut to keep you both entertained with papers and paints and gardening tools and books about keeping animals?”

“Yes, Albus, you are so very noble, doing the bare minimum to keep us alive. Pretending that you know your siblings so well.”

I could feel the anger, the resentment, swelling inside me. “Aberforth, stop.”

“I’ve hit a nerve now, haven’t I?” He sneered at me. “Do you even know who our sister really is? _What_ our sister really is, Albus?”

This threw me. I had no idea what he meant. “She’s a child and she needs our care.”

“And they call you the clever one,” Aberforth laughed. “You haven’t worked it out yet, have you?”

I stared at him, trying to find the words to respond when…

“I wish you’d both stop talking about me as if I weren’t even here!” Ariana cried at the two of us.

I was ashamed to realise that I had forgotten that she was standing there, why the argument had broken out in the first place.

“Ari, I didn’t mean…” Aberforth began, but Ariana had dropped the teacup pieces and raced out of the room. He then turned his attentions back to me, “Look what you did now, Albus.”

“What I did?” I snapped back, finally finding my voice again. “She tripped and overreacted. You were the one who came in here hollering and talking nonsense.”

“You raised your voice to her first!”

“It was an _accident_.”

“And it was an accident that Mother raised her voice too, and we know what happened then,” Aberforth whispered in a vicious tone.

We both went silent.

In all, I decided that the teacups would be a repair task for later. I took the plate of cold toast and a jar of marmalade from the table and walked out. I could hear Aberforth’s voice following me as I walked up the stairs to my attic room: _unfeeling bastard, just like our father. We’d be better off without you._ I could hear Ariana’s tears coming from her room as I reached the first landing.

When I reached my own room, I shut the door firmly behind me. I heard a teacup smash against the closed door, followed by another. I cast a charm to dull the noise.

Several hours have passed and the charm has worn off. The house is silent. We are now in a stalemate until one of us gives in and apologises for this morning.

I have a feeling it will be me who gives in. It usually is.

Once I put this journal aside, I plan to finish that column for the Prophet (I still owe them several lines on the Alchemy meet in Cairo from April, which they wish to run with a feature on the lead up to Nicholas Flamel’s six-hundredth birthday) and sketch an outline for a paper for Transfiguration Today on the benefits of practical transfiguration skills for school-age witches and wizards.

And I have to wonder, what exactly did Aberforth mean when he asked me if I know _what_ our sister is?

A.

* * *

Friday, 7 July 1899

It is raining outside. Three owls this morning, all very damp. None particularly important.

However, I can report that things have finally reached an unsteady truce in the House of Dumbledore.

Ariana has returned to her painting easel in the front room and Aberforth is in the dining room, drawing plans for a loafing shed at the northern side of the garden. He has ideas of keeping goats when he comes home from Hogwarts for good.

Meanwhile, I am keeping to my room as much as possible to try to avoid restarting yesterday’s argument. I have plenty to work on here and the housework can wait a day or two.

I completed and sent the column for the Prophet first thing after breakfast – that should bring in at least 10 Galleons next week – and I’m quite pleased with the progress I’ve made on the transfiguration paper. I think perhaps I need to do some further study on the extent to which switching spells are covered in wizarding schools other than Hogwarts, but I am happy to leave it for the time being.

I’ve also managed to plough through several chapters of _Magick Moste Evile_ , though a plough it was. I am dreadfully out of practice with Middle English dialects and it took a great deal of effort to make out some of verb forms in the more complex passages and not confuse them with spells.

I think the effort will be worthwhile, however, and I have collated a series of items, spells and bewitchings to research further. I am hoping that Professor Bagshot, with all of her notes on the history of magic, may be able to point me in the right direction.

In particular, the chapter relating to witch-burnings and suitable retaliations made reference to a type of dark magic developed in an individual following a traumatic experience, but which I cannot locate in any of the other texts scattered about my room. It is not something I came across at Hogwarts either and the concept fascinates me.

I will ask the professor tomorrow, when we visit for dinner.

A. 

* * *

 

> _And then, of course, he came…_
> 
> \- Albus Dumbledore, “Kings Cross”, 1998

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is a lyric from ["I'm a fantastic wreck" by Montaigne](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GPK2PMGI86E).
> 
> Next chapter... Gellert Grindelwald comes to Godric's Hollow.


	3. It's so deep I don't think that I can speak about it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus is immediately fascinated by Professor Bagshot's mysterious nephew.

> _And at last, my brother had an_ equal _to talk to, someone just as bright and talented as_ he _was._
> 
> \- Aberforth Dumbledore, “The Missing Mirror”

* * *

Very early morning, Sunday, 9 July 1899

[Several initial attempts illegible due to blots of ink.]

It is just past midnight and I can scarcely hold the quill to put these words onto the page, but put them down I must because I have experienced the _most wonderful_ fortune tonight in making the acquaintance of Professor Bagshot’s nephew.

My whole body is on edge, I feel as though my soul is on fire.

For the first time in my nearly eighteen years in this world, I have met someone who sees me not for my intellect – not _just_ for my intellect – but recognises and understands me. Who seemingly _knows_ me. And for what little time we spent together tonight, I feel that I _know_ him too.

What words will I use to describe Gellert Grindelwald?

He is a wonder. A marvel. A blessing.

Let me start at the beginning.

My Saturday began in a really ordinary kind of way. Ariana and I made breakfast and Aberforth joined us briefly before going to the garden to continue work on the shed. I then spent the morning in my room, pyjama clad, alternatively struggling through a chapter of _Magick Moste Evile_ (uses of human blood to enhance curses), taking notes on various applications, and gazing out the window into our garden whenever the language frustrated me.

It happens that I can see part of Professor Bagshot’s home as well from the height of my attic room, as my window faces to the south. The hedges at the boundary between the properties obscure most of the lower part of her garden, near the stream, and a large oak tree covers over the view of the eastern part of the old house, but I can just spy the edge of the lawn by kitchen door on the ground floor, the window to the library on the first floor, and the window to the western bedroom on the second.

It was from out my own attic window that I looked in curiosity when I heard the unmistakable crack of apparition shortly after lunchtime.

I saw a tall blond youth, slender, dressed all in black from his riding boots to his travelling cloak, levitating a trunk – _wandlessly_ , to my astonishment – towards the kitchen door. He was greeted by the professor and brought quickly inside. I did not see his face.

_Wandless magic_.

I was now intrigued.

Hadn’t the professor told me that her nephew was around my age? I had never heard of any one of my peers being able to use their magic in such a way. Even my own experiments with wandless levitation and movement to date have met with limited success.

I spent the rest of the afternoon in anticipation of the earliest hour appropriate to arrive at Professor Bagshot’s house and meet this great nephew of hers.

Around 5pm, I dressed myself and went downstairs to rouse Aberforth and Ariana from their hiding places and find a bottle of wine from the cellar to take with us. The three of us walked down the garden path to the gate, across the stream and up to the old house. As we drew near, I could smell the delicious aroma of roast chicken and potatoes wafting through the open kitchen window.

Professor Bagshot was in the kitchen icing a cake when we walked in, her apron dusted with sugar as she haphazardly waved her wand with her left hand to instruct the spatula while writing a note onto a manuscript with her right. She has the most amazing ability to work on her book at the same time as practically any other task.

“Don’t mind me, my dear Dumbledores, just finishing up a few things in here,” she said, but did not look up from the manuscript. “Gellert is sitting in the parlour, if you want to go in and introduce yourselves. There’s lemon cordial to drink and dinner will be ready shortly.”

I placed the wine on the counter for Professor Bagshot and led my siblings into the parlour.

And there he was.

Draped across an armchair – and I do mean draped, for one leg was resting over the arm of the chair, black-booted foot swinging against the upholstery – and reading Goethe’s _Faust_. He looked up from the book and I was immediately struck by just how _handsome_ he was.

How handsome he _is_ , so unlike any other young man in my acquaintance. All high cheekbones and proud chin and dazzling deep blue eyes. Blond hair that curls and falls past his ears. A smile that, as it was cast my way, knocked all of the air out of my lungs.

I have never felt anything like that sensation, except maybe being disarmed in duelling club. Because that’s how it was – utterly disarming.

“Good evening,” he said, putting the book down and sitting back properly in his chair. I could hear only the faintest accent behind his English. “I am Gellert Grindelwald. Pleased to meet you all.”

I now saw that the clothes which I had picked for black from the window this afternoon were instead a deep, deep shade of grey and very fine. All at once, I felt very homely in my tweed waistcoat and threadbare shirtsleeves.

I made to respond but found I had lost my ability to speak.

Luckily, Ariana had no such issues in finding her voice and quickly introduced herself, pointed out and named Aberforth and then myself, and immediately launched into questioning Gellert about exactly what is was like to live in Austria and had it been much colder at Durmstrang and how had he learned English so well. (Answers, in order, were “Dull”, “Yes” and “With practice”.)

Finally, after a few moments of frenzy, Ariana finished her interrogation and happily settled into ‘her’ chair by the empty fireplace and drank her cordial. And finally, I found my voice.

“How do you find England thus far, Gellert?” I asked, mentally berating myself as soon as I said it. I might as well have asked him his opinion of the weather.

“I have only been here a few hours and have managed to see little more than the Ministry Portkey Office and Tante Hilda’s garden,” he responded to the three of us and then, with a mischievous solemnity, leaned closer towards me and said: “I do take it that your country is much larger than this, or have I been deceived?”

“Oh, much larger,” I laughed. “There’s our garden too, at the very least.”

And for that, he gave me another smile.

It was like sunshine into the grey mood which had been my constant companion.

The professor – Tante Hilda! – called us all in for dinner and I was pleased to find she’d seated me next to Gellert. Gone was any small resentment I felt when she had suggested the friendship to me on Wednesday, for now I knew this was something I truly _needed._

As the evening wore on, an incredible lightness started to grow in my chest. I wondered if it had anything to do with the wine.

I listened, enraptured, as Gellert regaled us with tales of Durmstrang and the teachers who failed to understood his need for _more_ – to learn more, to do more, be more – and shut down his experiments and confiscated the musings which he shared among his peers. I was surprised to hear that he had not graduated recently, as I initially thought, but was in fact expelled!

He did not elaborate on any of these matters, but it made me consider the wandless magic I had witnessed this afternoon. I wonder if that sort of thing is outside the realm of acceptability at Durmstrang?

From my own time at Hogwarts, I know the frustration of a school’s limitations and, I suppose, if I had attempted to put into practice some of that which I had theorised during my school years, I might not have made it to my graduation either.

The whole time during dinner, I wanted nothing more than to ask more about the kinds of magic, the experiments, the musings of Gellert Grindelwald, but each time a lull was reached in the conversation, I found Ariana or Professor Bagshot filling the space before I had the ability to get a word in edgewise.

On what was quite possibility my fifth attempt at asking a question and being cut off, I caught Gellert’s eye and earned another smile. And a wink.

My stomach gave the most peculiar flip at that. Perhaps I was a little tipsy by this point.

Eventually it was time for cake – apparently a belated birthday cake for Gellert, who had his seventeenth birthday last week – and at 9pm the professor declared it to be nearly time for Ariana to get to bed. Reluctantly, I got up from my place at the table.

“We will have to find another time to continue our conversation,” Gellert said, as he walked with us to the door.

“To start our conversation, don’t you mean. I feel as though I could count on two hands the number of words I’ve spoken this evening.”

“Two hands and a foot, surely,” he chuckled in response.

“Surely.”

“Perhaps tomorrow?” Gellert offered. “If you are not doing anything in the afternoon, you could give me a tour of the village?”

“I’d like that very much,” I responded. Ariana pulled on my sleeve, and I was suddenly reminded that we were not alone. “But for now, I need to get my sister and brother home. Goodnight, Gellert.”

He gave me a strange, piercing look and responded, “Goodnight, Albus.”

And then I left with my siblings in tow, my night seemingly complete.

When we arrived home, Ariana took herself off to bed quietly and Aberforth grumbled back to his room muttering about _more bloody know-it-alls_ and _not another genius_ and _just what I bloody need_.

I made a pot of peppermint tea and took it up to the attic, intending to read another chapter of _Magick Moste Evile,_ thinking that it might put me to sleep. After a half-hour of studying the conjugation of the Middle English verb ‘thurven’ instead (in this context, ‘to be required to’) in order to understand a potion, I found myself still wide awake and going over the evening in my mind.

I knew there was a small vial of a calming draught somewhere in my dresser and, in the hope that this might ease my sleep more than tea and Middle English, I was digging around in my sock drawer when I heard a tap at the window.

With a pair of thick, woolly socks in one hand, I went to the window and opened it. A parchment bird flew in and landed on my desk, unfurling to reveal a message:

_I couldn’t wait until tomorrow. Would you like to join me by the stream?_

I peered out the window to see that Gellert, so casually leaning against the gate in the hedges, was waving up at me. Without a moment’s hesitation, I dropped the socks I was still holding and apparated to join him.

The summer night was warm, but the breeze was cooling as we sat by the stream on Professor Bagshot’s side of the hedgerow. Gellert conjured the bottle of wine which we had not finished during dinner and I created a small ball of hovering light to illuminate us.

“Care for a drink?” he asked, offering the bottle. I received it gladly.

“Cheers,” I raised the bottle in toast, took a sip and passed it back.

“ _Prost_ ,” Gellert mirrored my toast, drank, and then said, “My aunt told me about your mother. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” I replied. Then, “Truthfully, I’m sick of people giving their sympathies. It is done. She is gone. I’m here picking up the pieces. Sorry doesn’t change the truth of the matter.”

“But you still have your brother and your sister. Is that not a comfort?”

I scoffed and took a large swig from the bottle, “Aberforth and I have very little in common and Ariana is so often…” I paused, looking for an appropriate word, “…unwell.”

Gellert nodded, taking the bottle from me and having a much smaller, slower sip, before saying, “My aunt told me that your sister does not have magic in a traditional way.”

“No, she doesn’t. Her magic is…” again, I searched for the words, “violent, sudden, uncontrolled. When it’s there at all.”

“It must be…” Gellert started.

“Frustrating?” I supplied.

He frowned slightly and shook his head. “I was going to say fascinating, to have such magic around you. But yes, frustrating too. I can see that.”

We were silent for a few minutes, passing the bottle between us and skipping stones across the stream. I watched as Gellert lazily picked up each stone wandlessly, hovering it for a moment, before tossing it across the water with a flick of his wrist.

After a while, I spoke. “I wish I could do that. The wandless magic.”

Gellert looked at me with the same piercing look as before. “My aunt has told me about _you_ too, Albus Dumbledore. Winning all the awards that Hogwarts offers, representative to the Wizengamot. I’ve read your articles and your columns. What makes you think that you don’t have the power to do this?”

He skipped another rock into the water with a wave of his hand.

“I suppose, I never really knew how to go about it,” I answered truthfully.

“If so many wizarding cultures around the world have their own ways in which to use magic and so relatively few use wands or staves or other objects to control that magic, why do we here in Europe restrict ourselves to such conservative forms?” Gellert turned fully now to face me, his blue eyes bright with passion. “I am of the firm belief that we should not be afraid of power, but we should embrace all that we are capable of.”

It was as if he spoke to my very soul. My whole chest thrummed with _yes yes yes_.

He shuffled a little closer to me and pulled the wine bottle out of my grasp. “Here, let me help you.” He placed a pebble in my right hand.

“Can you feel it, the smooth edges? See the mottled colour?”

I nodded.

“Drop it on the ground, close your eyes and imagine you can feel it again.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, “If you say so,” and closed my eyes. I pictured the pebble in my mind’s eye, grey flecked over with white, smooth, egg-shaped but flatter, smaller than my palm.

“Good,” I heard Gellert’s voice in my ear. I shivered. “Good. Now skim the pebble across the water.”

I flicked my empty hand with the motion and heard the distinct ‘plop’ on the water. My eyes snapped open.

“I did it?”

Gellert was grinning widely. “You did it.”

And I did it again and again, each time easier, each time with more finesse, a bigger stone, a further distance along the stream. Each time looking to my new acquaintance for his reaction. Each time pleased to see his genuine enjoyment and appreciation for my new skill.

Eventually, we grew tired of levitating stones and the little wine left in the bottle was finished at last.

As we stood up from the damp grass, I asked “Will I still see you tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Gellert reached out to grasp my hand, squeezing it kindly. “I look forward to it, my friend.”

And so, we parted, friends.

And in parting, it felt as though something of me left with Gellert.

I realise I have been writing for several hours now, I should really get some sleep. I cannot wait for tomorrow – or more accurately, today! – to see what this new friendship brings.

A.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from ["Love and Anger" by Kate Bush](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xyEHKGDSg5I).
> 
> A massive thank you to everyone who left comments on the last chapter, you spurred me on to write this one much quicker than I expected!
> 
> Next chapter: Albus and Gellert explore Godric's Hollow and get to know each other's interests.


	4. If only I could always be just as I am right here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus shows Gellert the village of Godric's Hollow, and Gellert shows Albus some new perspectives.

> _I was gifted, I was brilliant. I wanted to escape. I wanted to shine. I wanted glory._
> 
> \- Albus Dumbledore, “Kings Cross”

* * *

 

Evening, Sunday, 9 July 1899

Unsurprisingly, I woke late today. It was nearly 10am when Ariana came into my room to ask if there was anything other than tea and toast to be had and to tell me that an owl had come across with a letter from Gellert.

_4pm by the stream to start our tour._

And then I remembered, a joy flooding me, and found that what little sleep I had had was apparently more than sufficient to have me out of bed right away.

Following breakfast, I established a small space in the front room to continue my writing so that I could keep an eye on Ariana while she works on her drawings. Apart from her easel by the window and my makeshift writing desk (an erstwhile credenza transfigured for the purpose) in the corner, the room contains only two well-worn armchairs and a velvet chaise lounge.

The two of us worked in companionable quiet for several hours until lunchtime, but I must admit that what work I did produce was paltry as my mind was nearly entirely trained upon Gellert and our planned outing for the afternoon. I found myself glancing at the letter he had sent, trying to discern anything about its author from the Germanic cursive style.

A little after the village church bells finished ringing from the afternoon service, Gellert and I met by the hedge gate and started to walk eastwards towards the village square, along the small path which runs beside the stream.

As we walked, I explained Godric’s Hollow to Gellert. I showed him the four wizarding-only streets running roughly east to west, how all the gardens edged the stream, as mine and his aunt’s did, or otherwise directly another wizarding property, in order to keep a level of easily-guarded and -warded privacy in the area. When we reached the village square, I pointed out the three muggle streets to the east, and then the houses to the north and south of the square, which are a mixture.

We then walked past the shops and I showed him which are wizarding and take our currency and those which would require muggle currency or a confounding trick.

“We have the most fascinating system here,” I explained. “We can use correct wizarding coin in combination with a confundus charm, and Gringotts has charmed the tills to convert it to muggle money before the shopkeeper counts out his earnings at the end of the day.”

I led us into the sweets shop, a wizard-owned establishment and one of the few open on a Sunday, and went over to the counter to pick up my usual selection – Bertie Bott’s beans for Aberforth, Ice Mice for Ariana, and a small bag of sherbet lemons from the muggle sweets shelf for myself. Gellert wandered around, picking up a jar here, opening a lid there, while I made my purchase.

The afternoon sun was warm as we continued our walk through the village, past the church and the graveyard, looping back towards the square again when ventured too close to the muggle streets.

I am always a little wary of the muggle streets, something I think has been drilled into our whole family over the years. I find myself always waiting for something to go wrong, for someone to attack. But it never does, they never do, not in Godric’s Hollow.

Gellert must have sensed my apprehension because he paused, his mouth tense as if he wasn’t sure if he should speak. After a moment, he looked at me intently and said, “I hope you will not be shocked, but I found an old newspaper article in Tante Hilda’s collection which detailed your father’s trial and imprisonment.”

“Oh.” I stopped walking. I could feel the colour rise in my cheeks. It had been many years since anyone had mentioned my father to me.

“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Gellert shook his head. “My apologies.”

“No, don’t apologise,” I assured him, moving to sit on a bench by the side of the road. “It’s only that people don’t usually want to talk about it. And Aberforth and I don’t because, well, when Ariana is around we tend to pretend that it all never happened in the first place.”

He sat next to me. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” I answered honestly, my voiced pained. Gellert placed a comforting hand on my knee, sending a shiver along my spine.

We sat in silence as we had by the stream last night, this time watching the villagers walk by as we ate the sherbet lemons, lost in our thoughts.

After a while, Gellert turned to me, his eyes intense. “Those muggle boys, the ones your father killed… they hurt Ariana, didn’t they?”

“They did,” I confirmed.

“If I were you, I’d never want to be near another muggle in my life.”

I made a small noise, part way between agreement and ponderation.

“It shouldn’t need to be that way, Albus,” Gellert’s voice was filled with strength, a serious tone, but he did not press the topic further as we walked back home again.

I think that Gellert struck upon some truth inside me which I have been afraid to voice until now. That I have been afraid of muggles and what they can do to magic users ever since Ariana’s attack all those years ago.

And he’s right, it shouldn’t need to be that way.

A.

* * *

 

Monday, 10 July 1899

I realised this morning that, in all the excitement of the past two days, I had completely forgotten to speak with Professor Bagshot about my notes on _Magick Moste Evile_. Not only that, but visiting the professor would provide the perfect excuse to leave the house and see my new friend.

I took that familiar path down my garden, through the gate, across the stream, up to the professor’s house, and knocked on the kitchen door. After a short while, it swung open to reveal Gellert, still in his pyjamas and dressing gown even though it was nearly midday.

His face lit up with a smile when he saw me, a smile I returned gladly.

“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon, Albus,” he said. “Couldn’t keep away from me?”

I could feel my face flush. It was true, but not something I wished to admit to him.

“I’ve actually come to ask your aunt about some of the things I’ve been reading,” I gestured to the book under my arm, “but spending time with you is an added bonus.”

“Come on in, I’ve just put the kettle on for tea,” he opened the door more widely. “Tante Hilda is in the library working on her book.”

I helped Gellert with the tea and we carried the tray upstairs to the library. Professor Bagshot had cleared the large table in the centre of the room of the usual piles of books and instead was laying and rearranging small piles from her manuscript when we entered.

“Thank you, Gellert,” she said, taking a cup of tea from the tray, “and hello Albus, dear boy. What brings you to my library today?”

“ _Magick Moste Evile_. The book, I mean,” I flustered, “It’s sent me down a rabbit hole of new creatures and spells to study.” I showed her the small list of topics which I was looking to research.

The professor took the list from me and made a noise of amusement, “Witch-burnings and retaliatory actions? Funny, Aberforth was wanting books on the same topic last Christmas.”

That took me by surprise, because I’ve never known Aberforth to be bookish.

The professor loaded me with several volumes on the topic of witch-burnings and pointed out others on the shelf to return to when I had finished.

We left her to her manuscript, and I started to head back down the stairs when Gellert stopped me with a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“Do you want to stay here and read with me?” he asked, almost shyly. “We could go upstairs, there’s plenty of room. And I could make more tea, and there’s still cake…”

As he spoke, my chest started to ache with that same lightness I first felt on Saturday. I responded, far too eagerly, “Yes, I’d love to.”

I figured Ariana and Aberforth would be fine without me for another hour or two.

He led me up the stairs to a room directly above the library, which I realised must be the western bedroom I can see from my window. It was large and sparsely furnished, with only a massive four-poster bed, a desk against one wall and a wardrobe against another. His trunk, which I had watched him levitate up to the house that very first day, was at the end of the bed, robes and books haphazardly scatted about.

Gellert raked a hand through his blond curls and looked at me sheepishly. “I apologise for the mess, I didn’t really expect visitors.”

I laughed. “You should see my room. This is fine.”

I made myself comfortable at the end of the massive bed, laying out the books the professor had given me and selecting something to start reading while Gellert went back downstairs to fetch sustenance.

When he returned, he joined me on the bed, lounging against the pillows in his striped pyjamas and drinking tea with an air of aristocracy about him that I could only aspire to.

We read for a while, pausing here and there to read a passage aloud to each other, to scratch out a quick note, to refill our tea cups.

At one point I heard Gellert gasp and whisper under his breath, “ _Unmöglich._ ”

“You’ll have to translate that one for me,” I said wryly. “What have you discovered now?”

I looked up to see the most peculiar expression flit across his face, almost as if he’d been caught out, before he responded, “I… ah… I had just never realised how many of our kind were slaughtered during the middle ages.”

“You didn’t study History of Magic at Durmstrang?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, I did,” Gellert grinned, “Well, I attended classes. I just wasn’t inclined to remember anything that I didn’t believe to be vitally important in that moment.”

“And what _did_ you believe to be _vitally important_?” I asked.

“The rise and fall of empires, the might of magic, the wizards and witches who conquered death through their own artifice,” he turned a page with a casual air. “You know, the interesting things.”

“Your aunt’s manuscript… do you think she writes ‘the interesting things’ in history?”

“I think she collects notes on a great many things. There’s more than one book scattered across that table downstairs.”

Gellert got up from the bed and started rummaging in his trunk for something. I watched as he withdrew a battered leather notebook embossed with a year, 1898, and a large triangular glyph, and resumed his place on the bed.

“Albus,” he said, with the same serious tone he’d had on the bench by the side of the road yesterday, his eyes glinting. “I don’t want to read history my aunt writes. I want to _make_ it.”

The words sent a thrill through me.

‘This book is one of the reasons I was expelled from Durmstrang,” he said, clutching it to his chest possessively. “It’s a collection of my ramblings on the interaction between the wizarding world and the muggles, my ideas for how I could make the world safer for our kind to practice magic freely, to do what we want and be who we want to be. How I could lead a revolution.”

He spoke with such a passion.

“Do you want to make history too, Albus?”

And just as it had on Saturday, when Gellert had spoken of power then, my whole chest thrummed with _yes yes yes yes yes_.

“Yes.”

He leaned forward and took my hand in his. “Let’s make history _together_.”

When I returned home later, the real world reared its ugly head again in the form of a tantrum from Ariana and complaints from Aberforth about where I had been. I spent the afternoon cleaning up after the two of them, cooking dinner, and seriously considering what the cost of having a part-time house elf would be.

It is evening now, the house is quiet again and I am considering Gellert’s proposition as I write, glancing up now and then at the light of his room across the stream.

I’ve always wanted to be at the top of my class, ahead of my peers, respected and known for my talents and abilities and not for the dark deeds of my father… but to actively seek the kind of power Gellert suggests is something that has never occurred to me.

This is perhaps where we differ, Gellert and I. I am happy to seek success and power through the procedure and process of established systems. Gellert wants to tear them down and rebuild the world in his own image.

We are two of the brightest wizards of our generation.

Could he and I really make history together, and lead a revolution?

A.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title is a lyric from ["In Your Light" by Gotye](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4HwgDDw5350).
> 
> Thank you again for your wonderful comments here, on Tumblr, and in person (Miss Anna). Updates might start to slow down a little as we get closer to Christmas - I have a lot of adulting to do over the next week and lots of family obligations, but I hope to still get a lot of writing done!
> 
> Next chapter: The search for The Deathly Hallows begins.


	5. Worldly boundaries of dying were for just a moment never ours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gellert reveals his investigations into the Deathly Hallows - and other things - to Albus.

 

 

> _It was the thing, above all, that drew us together… Two clever, arrogant boys with a shared obsession._
> 
> \- Albus Dumbledore, “King’s Cross”

* * *

 

Tuesday, 11 July 1899

Our supply of potions is running low, lower than I’d like considering how frequently Ariana is needing them these days. With some requiring several hours of brewing time, I figured that preparing several at once would save some hassle. And so, I decided to have a potions day.

Gellert and I had planned to spend the afternoon as we had yesterday, reading books from the professor’s library in his room, but I owled this morning to suggest relocating ourselves to my kitchen instead.

We spent several hours in conversation while I brewed calming draughts, pepperup potions and, most importantly, a large batch of draught of peace for Ariana. Gellert professed not to be particularly proficient with potions but happily fetched items from the shelves and cupboards when I asked, chopping and crushing ingredients as I instructed.

It reminded me in a way of being in potions classes with Elphias when we were in our earlier years at Hogwarts, before academic ambition caught up with me. But I have to admit to myself, making potions with Gellert is far more fun than being in potions class with Elphias had ever been.

As the afternoon wore on, there was less for Gellert to help with, so I sent him into the front room to collect parchment and ink so that we might take down notes of some of our more interesting ideas as we talked. He returned with the requisite items, as well as a copy of Tales of Beedle the Bard.

“I’ve not read it in the English,” he told me as he sat back at the end of the table furthest from the bubbling caudrons. “Only German.”

“You are most welcome to borrow it,” I replied, as I rolled my sleeves further up my arms and stirred the pepperup potion thrice clockwise, twice anticlockwise, twice clockwise, thrice anticlockwise. “I don’t have time for fairy stories anymore.”

“Have you ever…” Gellert began, leaning forward in his seat, but was interrupted by a loud banging of a door outside the kitchen.

We could hear footsteps thudding all the way up the stairs, then all the back way down, then Ariana’s voice called “Albus?”

“Still in here with the potions,” I called back, smiling at my friend, “and Gellert.”

She popped her head around the door, her hair damp and wild, a hairbrush in her hand. “Oh there you are! ’lo Gellert.”

“ _Servus_ , Ariana.”

There was a pause and Ariana moved herself further into the room. “May I join you?”

Gellert pulled a chair out next to himself and gestured for Ariana to sit. “Certainly, I am sure Albus and I would enjoy your company for a little while.”

(I honestly would have preferred to tell her no.)

“Before you came in,” he continued, “I was about to ask your brother if he had ever considered which of the magical items in the Tale of the Three Brothers he would most wish to possess, if he were to have the chance.”

“Oh, that story is Albus’s favourite!” Ariana cried.

Gellert raised a pale eyebrow and looked at me pointedly, “Really? He tells me he doesn’t have time for fairy stories.”

I could feel my face flushing and hoped it was easily excusable from being so close to the cauldrons. “Not anymore,” I mumbled.

“It _is_ ,” Ariana insisted as she began to brush her damp hair. “Well, I know what I’d want. It’s easy. That cloak of invisibility. Then I might be able to actually go about in the daytime, rather than being cooped up in this draughty old place all day.”

“More than understandable,” Gellert said sympathetically. I felt a pang of guilt at being the one doing the cooping-up. “And what about you, Albus?”

“Hmm,” I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand and answered, “I’d rather not spend my days making household potions and washing dirty socks. Perhaps the stone would allow me to bring back my mother from the dead.”

Ariana paused her brushing and looked at me with big, sad eyes, her hands starting to shake, her breathing shallow. She was pale, ghostly white.

“Ariana, I didn’t mean…” I realised my misstep.

But so had Gellert. Calmly, he reached over and took the brush from Ariana’s hand and – this surprised me – started to brush her hair. He then began to speak in the most soothing voice, a lyric in time with the stroke of the brush.

“Do you know what I would pick, Ariana?” Stroke. “I’d pick the elder wand above all.” Stroke. “A wand that powerful…” Stroke. “That old…” Stroke. “That much wisdom learned through the years.” Stroke. “I like to think about that power…” Stroke. “All of the things I could do…” Stroke. “All of the changes I could make…”

Gradually, Ariana’s hands steadied, her breath slowed and her eyes shone not with fear and sadness, but with contentment. I watched mesmerised as Gellert’s long fingers stroked through Ariana’s hair, pulling it into a simple braid which he fastened with a ribbon conjured from his wand.

I looked at the two of them – my new friend and my sister – golden haired and beautiful and not yet weighed down by the responsibilities of adulthood.

Suddenly, I was hit with a sensation so strong that I felt as though I’d been bowled over. I found that I had the strangest wish to be in Ariana’s place, to be spoken to in that calming voice. For my hair to be stroked and played with. For someone to soothe my worries. For…

I could feel the colour rising in my face once more and busied myself with bottling the completed potions, finding a point of conversation to distract myself from thoughts which I did not care to examine in that moment.

“And what of possessing all three?” I suggested. “Surely the master of all three hallowed objects would be the master of Death itself? Imagine how that power could be harnessed!”

“ _Surely this, what of that_ , _imagine how_ ,” Ariana turned to me with a familiar exasperation, “Aberforth is right. Everything is scholarship and investigation for you, you don’t know how to have fun.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Ariana,” Gellert caught my eye and smiled that disarming smile of his. “I happen to find his scholarship and investigation very _fun_ indeed.”

Ariana was not convinced and finally, blessedly, left the kitchen to go back to whatever it was she had been doing.

Gellert helped me to bottle the rest of the calming draught and then to make tea. We left the draught of peace to continue its brewing and retired into the front room, him taking a seat in a battered armchair, me on the chaise, and continued our discussion.

“You know, the Deathly Hallows – the wand, the stone, the cloak – I have reason to believe that they are real,” Gellert spoke in an almost hushed voice, pulling his battered leather notebook from a pocket, “I’ve been collecting notes from across Europe, tracing origins of the myth, and everything leads to the conclusion that each item is real.”

I must have had an expression of utter shock across my face. “You don’t really believe?”

“I do, Albus,” his deep blue eyes had taken on that passionate look, “and I believe precisely what you propose, that the master of all three would be the master of Death.”

I watched him open the leather notebook, leafing through to find a particular page.

“But how…?” I started to ask.

“Here,” he said, moving over to sit with me and to show me his workings. “I’ve been tracking the wand, primarily. Call it selfishness.”

The notebook was crammed with tiny handwriting – some in German, some English, some Latin, and some in Cyrillic script which I could not recognise at a glance – and small illustrations. He has collected references to wands with exceptional power, the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny, use of elder wood in wand-making.

We spent a long time in that chair, Gellert translating and explaining the evidence he has found, me proposing new interpretations which he has not yet entertained in his workings.

When at long last it was time for him to return to his aunt’s for dinner, I walked Gellert down to the gate in the hedgerow.

“You know, this really is spectacular work you’ve done.”

“Thank you, Albus,” he replied in a serious tone. “It really does mean a great deal to me that you think so. Your opinion means more to me right now than any other in the world.”

He squeezed my hand in farewell and I was left there, by the stream, alone with my thoughts. Thoughts about…

Well, let me say that there is more about those thoughts I wish I write, but not today.

A.

* * *

 

Wednesday, 12 July 1899

I had an owl today with a rather interesting job offer, something far more interesting than the Ministry positions of which I have been dreading the inevitability.

The Clerk of the Wizengamot, Blackmore Jenkins, was seemingly impressed by my contributions as Youth Representative last summer and has written to offer me a post as a research clerk. Apparently the current researcher, Miss Blishwick, is joining the staff of Ilvermorny in September.

Jenkin’s letter explains that, while I would be required to be present on those days when the Wizengamot is hearing a trial or holding debate, I would also be able to do some of the work from Godric’s Hollow in quiet periods in order to ‘meet any familial obligations’.

I must admit, it would be an excellent way to improve my knowledge of the workings of the Wizengamot and to bring in the much-needed money for my family.

However, Gellert is less enthused by the prospect.

“Why on earth would you want to waste your time helping people to record their speeches properly?” he said with such an air of disgust when I went over to tell him this morning. “So much procedure and process. So dull.”

“What is any government but a judicious application of agreed procedure and process? Besides, they want me to be a research clerk, not the Court Scribe.”

“Oh, because sorting through old Statutes and drafting motions to suspend standing orders is _so much better_ ,” Gellert rolled his eyes.

“Easy enough for you to say. You have a healthy vault in Gringotts and no responsibilities,” I threw a cushion at him, which he caught and tossed back at me. “Some of us have hungry mouths to feed.”

I was playful in my mood and thought Gellert was being so too, until he said in his solemn way, “Please don’t say yes to it right away. You can do so much more than this. I can see that you can do so much more.”

It felt like an instruction more than a plea, which was strange. But Gellert’s words were enough to make me think that perhaps I was overhasty in my interest in the position.

I have written back to Mr Jenkins to say that I will consider his offer over summer and, if he is amenable to wait for my reply, I will make a decision once Aberforth has returned to Hogwarts and I am more assured of what my ‘familial obligations’ will entail with only Ariana to care for.

A.

* * *

 

Thursday, 13 July 1899

Gellert joined me in the front room again today, working on translations of his essays – apparently he wrote several popular ones at Durmstrang which he wishes to distribute more broadly – while I finished off my transfiguration article.

Eventually we grew bored of our tasks, and went back to our theorising on the location of the real Deathly Hallows.

At one point, while Gellert was extolling the virtues and powers of the Elder Wand (I will name it as such from here, so too the Resurrection Stone and the Invisibility Cloak, for that is how we style them), Ariana came into the room to collect the drawing she had left on the easel by the window.

Cocking her head at one of Gellert’s more enthusiastic assertions that while the Wand would in fact amplify the power of any wizard, it would likely be exponential based on the individual’s power, Ariana recited, matter-of-factly, the old proverb “ _Wand of elder, never prosper_.”

The shadow which was cast across my friend’s face was something to behold. It was as though a coldness had settled within him and was rising forth. His blue eyes were like river ice, sharp and deep.

And then, just as quickly as the shadow had passed across his face, it was gone, and the enthusiastic scholar returned: “You say this, Ariana, but do you know the origin of that particular phrase?”

“Ugh,” Ariana replied as she left the room, “You’re as bad as Albus.”

What I wouldn’t give for a few days’ peace away from my siblings again. I told Gellert as much and he has proposed that we take another tour of the village tomorrow. He has expressed an interest in visiting the graveyard, although he will not tell me why.

Apparently all will be revealed tomorrow morning.

A.

* * *

 

Friday, 14 July 1899

Today, Aberforth kept an eye on Ariana while Gellert and I visited the village.

First, we browsed the antiques store, making general nuisances of ourselves, play-fighting with the umbrellas and swords we found, until old Mr Potter shooed us outside again.

As we laughed our way out into the street, I had a strong sense that this, just having fun with Gellert, was exactly what my summer _should_ be. This fun, a last summer of boyish irresponsibility, is what was stolen from me when my mother died.

Gellert has shown me that there should be a balance, that my life is more than my responsibilities to my brother and sister.

As we walked towards the graveyard, I could see Gellert become more and more excited. He steered me in a direction towards some older gravestones, on the far side of the church.

“Will you tell me now what it is you want to show me?” I asked, as his pace slowed.

Gellert stopped, gesturing at a large, weathered headstone beside him. I saw that the headstone shared the same strange, triangular glyph as his notebook.

“The resting place of Ignotus Peverell, the third brother from the Tale.”

“No!” I exhaled in wonderment. “Really?”

“All my evidence gathered about the Cloak suggests it was him. And look, the symbol of the Hallows. What better proof than that?”

I was a little embarrassed that the significance of the glyph had not occurred to me until then. I could see it as soon as he said what it was, the triangular Cloak, the circular Stone, the Wand.

Gellert took several pencil rubbings of parts of the headstone into his notebook before leading us back home again.

“The Deathly Hallows are in part what brought me to Godric’s Hollow.”

This did not surprise me, having seen his workings. But I wondered aloud, “In part? What else, then?”

“The promise of a roof over my head and a hot meal,” he responded sheepishly. “Not many of my relatives are as understanding of my expulsion as Tante Hilda. The promise of company in her young neighbours.”

“As good a reason as any,” I replied, jostling him playfully, and he brightened instantly. He nudged me back, then started to run along the stream path.

I chased him and we arrived at the gate at the same time, crashing into each other.

Rather than moving away when he ran into me, Gellert held me close, one hand on my upper arm, the other at my waist. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Yes,” I breathed, my heartbeat racing. I could feel every single spot where his body touched mine.

“I’ve had a vision of us, Albus. When I spoke the other day about us making history… it’s not the first time I have had that… thought? Feeling? What I see of the future is sometimes clear, sometimes mysterious, ever changing. But you, I see you in my future. In that glorious revolution.”

My heartbeat grew louder within my chest, throbbing in my head as I tried to understand what he was telling me. “You’re a Seer?”

“I’m a Seer,” he held onto me a little tighter, his eyes desperate. It was as though I had lost my breath all over again. “This doesn’t change anything, does it Albus?”

“Not a single thing,” I managed.

I wonder what else about our future Gellert has Seen?

A.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title is from ["In A Graveyard" by Rufus Wainwright](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HIiL2ArecZs). The whole Poses album, which this track comes from, has been a major mood inspiration for this fic.
> 
> In the next chapter: The search for the Hallows continues in earnest and Albus starts to critically assess the thoughts he has been ignoring.


	6. Now left to ponder your devotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus is surprised by Gellert in more ways than one.

Saturday, 15 July 1899

No Gellert today – he has gone into Diagon Alley with Professor Bagshot while she meets with her publisher. He intends to use the time to visit Flourish and Blotts, as well as the second-hand bookshops, to see if he can find anything in the way of a Peverell family history.

If I’m being honest, I am a bit glum without the prospect of his brightening my day.

I’ve tried to busy myself with correspondence to my friends and colleagues – a letter to Elphias, who is now in Croatia-Slavonia; a request to Harvey Ridgebit, who has gone to Romania to study dragons, as I have a mind to try the application of dragon’s blood instead of human’s to some of the minor curses in _Magick Moste Evile;_ and a note to Nicholas Flamel with a copy of my forthcoming column in the Prophet – all to little avail.

The fact remains that I have spent an inordinate amount of time today at the desk by the window in my attic room, gazing across the way at Gellert’s bedroom window, lost in my thoughts.

Can it really be only a week since he arrived in Godric’s Hollow? Just seven days, in which he has turned my world on its head? A mere matter of hours which we have spent together, which have left me re-examining my very sense of self?

As I sit here, I can still feel the warmth of his hands as we stood and embraced, out-of-breath, as he told me his secret by the gate yesterday. Oh! The thrill his touch brought to me.

The way I feel always at once on edge and entirely at ease in his presence… I find that there is something about myself which I can no longer ignore.

Throughout my years at Hogwarts, I watched as my friends formed romantic attachments with the girls in our year, the highs of their ‘walking out’ to Hogsmeade together, the lows of broken-hearted tears in the common room when inevitably they fell out. I tried to understand as my friends discussed who was the prettiest of the girls. I heard the whispered conversations, late at night, as my roommates discussed the intimate acts they had learned about, had experimented with.

The whole time, I was thoroughly disinterested in the whole matter of romance and courting and assumed that I was just a late-bloomer. That maybe these things would come naturally to me once I had my exams completed, once I was out in the real world, away from the same girls I had spent the last seven years living in close proximity with and whom I regarded as sisters.

However, from the moment Gellert first smiled at me, I began to suspect that perhaps I was not disinterested in romance, per se, but in the romantic construct into which I had assumed I would fall. For as soon as I saw him, I knew from deep within that _this_ was the beauty I sought.

In short, while academically I understood that some men prefer the company of their own sex, I had never considered that this might be a proclivity which I shared.

This realisation has been coming to me slowly over the past few days. Although I have found it to be somewhat disconcerting that it never occurred to me before, it is as though I have now discovered my true self. And I suppose, in a way, I have.

It is a liberating thing.

But Gellert’s easy affection unnerves me, because I don’t believe that his smiles, his touch, his interest in me is something more than a genuine, demonstrative friendship. A meeting of minds in a quest for knowledge and power. I don’t want to ruin it by dwelling overlong on his beauty, or by doing or saying something that I will come to regret.

His friendship is the greatest I have ever known. I don’t want anything to come between us, least of all my awakening emotions.

A.

* * *

 

Sunday, 16 July 1899

As it transpired, I did end up hearing from Gellert yesterday. An owl came very late, as I was about to go to bed, to invite our family to Sunday lunch with him and the professor.

Aberforth was not impressed when I told him over breakfast this morning.

“Why should I have to go?” he whinged, stabbing at his bacon. “Grindelwald isn’t _my_ friend.”

“I think Gellert is nice,” Ariana offered.

I looked at her, surprised, “I thought you said he was no fun?”

“He’s a bit bookish, same as you, but he’s nice to me. I’ve never had a friend before.” It had never really occurred to me, but of course she hadn’t. Ever since we moved to Godric’s Hollow, the only people she saw were Mother and Professor Bagshot, and Aberforth and I during school holidays.

 “Then you can entertain your friend and leave me out of it!” Aberforth replied. “You and Albus are both obsessed. _Gellert Grindelwald_. It’s not a name, it’s the noise a frog makes.”

In the end, after all his griping, Aberforth was convinced that a roast lunch would be worth his sitting through ‘all that chatter’.

I was anxious in heading over to see Gellert after the hours I had spent yesterday in deep thought about my… disposition. But as soon as he opened the door and welcomed us in, his arm around my shoulder in greeting, we fell into our easy companionship the same as every other day.

Gellert had returned from Diagon Alley with not only two books useful for our quest – one on lineages of pureblood families in England, one on historical interpretation of magical mythology – but a new set of watercolours for Ariana as well. The way her face lit up when he handed the small box over as we sat down to lunch was just wonderful. It was the happiest I had seen her since mother’s death. (He had bought nothing for Aberforth, which surprised no one and went unmentioned.)

The professor entertained the four of us throughout lunch with tales of the mischief she had got up to at Hogwarts with her sister, Gellert’s grandmother. We all roared with laughter as she described how the two of them managed to temporarily vanish all of the furniture from the Ravenclaw common room for two minutes of each hour, every hour, for nearly a week, before a prefect worked out how to undo their spell.

Once lunch was finished, Gellert and I offered to look after the cleaning up and the professor decided to walk my siblings back home, assuring them of her deepest wishes to see Aberforth’s shed and Ariana’s latest artworks.

As soon as they were out the door and heading back down the garden path, Gellert grabbed my arm and led me upstairs with a conspiratorial look in his eye. “Come with me, the dishes can wait. I have something to show you.”

We raced up to his room, where I discovered a large map was now pinned to the wall and several volumes scattered on the floor beneath it.

“What do you think?” he asked excitedly as I examined the map. It was of an area which I did not immediately recognise, though assumed was somewhere in the British Isles from the words I could see, and was marked up with red lines of thread and small notecards with cryptic comments such as ‘ _dark/black sand? trees?’_ and ‘ _cave at the bend_ ’ and ‘ _overnight here_ ’.

“It depends,” I turned to face him, picking up a copy of _Walking the Wizarding Wilds of Wales_ from the floor. “What precisely am I looking at?”

He smiled his dazzling, disarming smile. “The location of our next adventure, Peverell’s Hill. It will be four days’ hike altogether along the river to get to the bridge and back, five if we take it slowly to search for any other relics or clues about the Hallows.”

“Oh,” My heart sank. “Gellert, you must know I couldn’t possibly go with you. I can’t go anywhere. Not with Ariana and Aberforth to look after.”

“Yes. I remember this well, my friend. On Thursday you said that you would give anything for a few days’ peace away from them,” he explained, “So, you see, yesterday I told Tante Hilda that I had an interest in exploring more of the English countryside and would prefer not to travel alone. It was then _she_ who suggested that you join me, I did not even have to ask!”

“But that doesn’t change the fact that I cannot leave, no matter how much I might wish to!” I responded in frustration. Putting the book down again on the pile on the floor, I sat myself at the end of the bed.

Gellert joined me on the bed, his voice softer now, less excited, more earnest. “I’m not making myself clear. My aunt proposes to take care of your brother and sister while we go on our journey together. You may have your few days’ peace.”

At first, I still couldn’t quite comprehend what he was saying, but then a joy started to bubble up within me, that unbearable weight of responsibility lifting from my shoulders as I realised what he had done for me. I could see the grin on his face grow wider as the expression on my own must have shifted from bewilderment to understanding to sheer elation.

I let out the most undignified noise of delight and in my excitement drew Gellert into an embrace. His arms came around me in return and, for just a moment, everything felt perfect and precisely right in the world.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“You are welcome, my friend,” he whispered back.

After a little while he pulled away, one hand still resting gently on my back.

“Now, let’s set up the cleaning charms on the dishes downstairs and then I can show you the itinerary I have begun.”

Unfortunately, the professor came back only a short time later, while Gellert and I were still sorting cleaning charms in the kitchen. Ariana had tripped on her way back home and was, while apparently stable, a little on edge and in need of my presence.

So I am once again in the front room, working at my credenza-desk, while Ariana paints images of dark oblivion onto her canvas.

I know where I would much prefer to be.

A.

* * *

 

Monday, 17 July 1899

Ariana is no better today, keeping mostly to her room since this morning. She has taken her potions, and a little tea and cake, but keeps the curtains drawn and hides in the darkness, curled on her bed.

I wish I had a solution for her, to help save her from these moods.

When I realised that it would be one of _those_ days, I sent word to Gellert that I would be staying home to be close at hand should anything go wrong. Imagine my surprise when he arrived at our kitchen door shortly thereafter with a plate full of fresh jam drop biscuits and a bundle of documents under his arm.

“If you cannot come to the war room, let the war room come to you!” he stated proudly, pressing the plate into my hands.

Gellert had brought with him the map from his wall, all of his notes, and several small guidebooks, which he spread out on the floor of my bedroom and began to explain spiritedly. He described his ideas for our adventure, that we would apparate to the head of the trail two days from now and spend the next few days following the river to the site of the fabled bridge, before returning via the forest trail and apparating back again on Sunday or Monday of next week. As he proposed various points of interest, which now made sense of the notecards I had seen yesterday, I countered with other suggestions or improvements, until we had developed the perfect plan for our journey.

“And what of the weather?” I jested at one point, “Will it rain, is that something you can See for us?”

“I will let you know, should I have a Vision,” Gellert deadpanned, before becoming more serious, his voice dropping to that solemn tone he favours when discussing his works, “But I have Seen something which–”

He broke off, looking at the door. Ariana was standing there, a ghostly pale figure in her nightgown, her blonde hair a mess. She was staring intently at the two of us, huddled over the map, and I was acutely aware of how close Gellert and I were sitting, his hand resting on my knee as it so often does.

“Aberforth wants to know what’s for lunch,” she said softly, her eyes roaming across the map on the floor. “What’s this?”

Gellert reached a hand out to Ariana and brought her to sit on the floor with us, “Your brother and I are planning a pilgrimage to Peverell’s Hill.”

She looked at me in alarm, “You’re leaving, Albus?”

“Only for a few days,” I reassured her, “you will hardly know I’m gone.”

“Oh,” Ariana sounded unconvinced.

“And my Tante Hilda will come to live with you and Aberforth for a few days.”

“Right,” she looked more closely at the map. The three of us sat in silence for a little while as she picked up our notes, scrutinising the route which we had marked out, until, at last, she spoke again. “Do you think you’ll find the Invisibility Cloak for me?”

“We will do our very best,” Gellert replied.

Ariana nodded, standing and leaving the room in the same quiet manner as she arrived. As she went, I felt a pit in my stomach, some small guilt that I should not be leaving my siblings, even under the more than capable care of Professor Bagshot. I wondered: are Gellert and I really doing our very best for Ariana?

Later, after we had prepared lunch and were again holed up in my room, Gellert at the desk by the window working further on the translations of his essays, me on the bed with a book, I asked him as much.

“I see it this way,” he replied, “Ariana is best served by a world where witches and wizards are free to practice our magic without the kinds of violent repercussions she faced as a child. We all are. Do you not agree?” He was so matter-of-fact in the way he spoke, so assured in his argument.

“Of course.”

“And is that not what our quest for the Hallows is at its core, seeking objects of power to help us build that very world? You and I have a duty to seek out the Hallows for the greater good of all wizardkind. Here, see what you think of this.” He passed me the parchment he had been working on, the ink still drying: _The Ultimate Supremacy of Magic_.

I read quickly, taking in every word. I found his prose to be compelling and his conviction for the cause imbued within the text. His use of the written English language however, while very good, had missed the mark in one or two places.

We spent nearly an hour editing and reworking passages here and there, until the pamphlet reflected not only _what_ Gellert wanted to say but all the gravitas and passion with which he wished to say it.

I have to admit, it is that passion for everything he does and believes in which is by far one of the things that draws me to him most strongly. And (I will confess in these pages) it is for this reason I am somewhat nervous about the prospect of our journey together, because of what passions stir within me in response.

A.

* * *

 

Tuesday, 18 July 1899

I should sleep, but I am completely spelled with excitement.

It is all set, Gellert and I leave for the trail after lunch tomorrow. Our bags are packed with food, books and camping gear – Undetectable Extension Charms are a true gift! – and our route is confirmed.

Professor Bagshot will set herself up in Mother’s old bedroom for a few days and is quite confident that she will be able to keep my sibling’s spirits up during my absence. It has become apparent that the professor is supportive of the friendship between her nephew and I, and wishes to encourage me in enjoying my summer.

Now, as I sit at my attic room desk, again looking over to the light in Gellert’s window, I can’t quite believe this small reprieve he has blessed me with. This special gift of freedom he has granted me.

However, Aberforth is unhappy with the whole situation. He confronted me in the garden as I walked down to the hedgerow to meet Gellert for a quick supply run to town this morning.

“You can’t seriously be planning to leave us for so many days in a row?” Aberforth all but hissed as he pulled me away from the path and towards his (nearly complete) goat shed. “You really have no idea what you’re leaving us alone with.”

“If you’re talking about Ariana and her moods,” I responded, annoyed that I was now running late, “I have every confidence that the professor will be able to manage.”

Aberforth looked at me with a serious, adult expression which I had never before seen cross his face, his hand gripping my arm tightly. “Albus, I think there is something very wrong with our sister. I love her, but I am scared of what she might do.”

“There is nothing to be afraid of,” I assured him, shaking off his grip. I could see Gellert now waiting at the gate. “Ab, I really have to be off. I’ve got more important things to do right now.”

“Right.” He followed my gaze and made a noise of disgust. “I should have known. Off you go, then. Wouldn’t want to get in the way of _the greater good_ or whatever it is you’re calling him.”

I ignored the innuendo in Aberforth’s comment and refused to let his attitude ruin my good mood for the rest of the day.

Tomorrow, to Peverell’s Hill and the quest for the Deathly Hallows!

A.

* * *

 

> _And looking after Ariana took a backseat then, while they were hatching all their plans for a new wizarding order, and looking for_ Hallows _, and whatever else it was they were so interested in. Grand plans for the benefit of all wizardkind, and what if one young girl got neglected, what did that matter, when Albus was working for_ the greater good _?_
> 
> \- Aberforth Dumbledore, “The Missing Mirror”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title is from ["Endless Summer" by The Jezabels](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m8Oa3i6kNLU).
> 
> Thank you again for all of your wonderful, supportive comments. Every kind word I receive makes me want to write more and more for you all. <3
> 
> I'm on my own summer holidays here for Christmas now, so my writing time may vary wildly as I travel interstate and overseas with my husband over the next three weeks. I hope to update weekly during this time, depending on what my internet access is like in the wilds of New Zealand in early January.
> 
> Best wishes for a happy and healthy holiday season to all of my readers!


	7. Promise of love is hard to ignore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions and tensions bubble over as Albus and Gellert make their pilgrimage to Peverell's Hill and the deep, dangerous river crossing from the Tale of the Three Brothers.

Wednesday, 19 July 1899

Our first day of hiking is complete, although it was only a short journey from the apparation point to our first camp site by the river. It is gloriously quiet here, the only sounds around are those of the burbling water, the birds in the trees, and the crunch of Gellert’s boots against the gravel as he assembles our camp. I have offered to help, but he insists that we will take it in turns and that tonight is his.

I have happily set myself up against the broad trunk of a willow while I write and watch. It is sheer bliss to be surrounded on all sides by nothing else but nature and fresh air, the cooling breeze of the early summer evening.

The journey to Peverell’s Hill is not a popular one in the catalogue of wizarding walking destinations, so we do not anticipate many others, if any, along the route. It is not an exceptionally scenic walk, as far as we have discerned from the literature, nor particularly adventurous, nor, unsurprisingly, is it clearly associated with Deathly Hallows. But we are more than content with having the trail to ourselves, not another soul around for miles.

Gellert has finished with the tent (it is a standard, charmed, two-person set up on the inside, he tells me: a small sitting area with a potbelly stove and a sleeping area with two beds) and is now wandlessly summoning sticks of various sizes to build a campfire.

The way he uses magic, the ease and finesse which comes so naturally to him, is indeed an art. It inspires such a longing in me, at once to be _like_ him and to be _with_ him. And gone is any shyness I feel in watching him. Now, unconstrained by the usual, persistent presence of our family members, I am happy to admire his magical ability openly.

(But his beauty, _that_ I will continue admire privately.)

“Can you light the fire without a wand, too?” I asked him just now, as he placed the final log in a pile for later tonight.

“Not yet,” he replied, a look of deliberation on his face, “but I have managed to develop this…”

He produced a rope of blue flame from the end of his wand and conducted it into a small circle at this feet, in the way a maestro might lead his orchestra. The flame surged up, then flickered and died after a moment, leaving a circle of dust where the thin grass had been.

“Unfortunately, not the thing for campfires,” he shrugged, kicking at the dust. “It eats away everything in its path.”

“Here, let me,” I picked up my own wand. “ _Incendio_. Sometimes the simplest spells are the best.”

His smile was a clear reminder that yes, the simplest spells truly are.

Before we left Godric’s Hollow this afternoon, Professor Bagshot insisted on taking a picture of the two of us. Gellert and I stood there, his arm over my shoulder, laughing as she fussed with the camera until she had the perfect angle with the right lighting. I look forward to seeing the results once she processes the film, to see how his smile is caught in the photograph. I think that picture will be very dear to me.

Gellert has begun to prepare our dinner, I really should put down my quill now and assist him.

A.

* * *

Thursday, 20 July 1899

We have kept a steady pace so far today, at this rate we should reach the river crossing before lunch tomorrow.

It is now well into the afternoon, the sun is high and scorching hot, and we have sought refuge beside the river to cool down and catch our breath. Off have come shoes and socks, trousers have been rolled to the knee, and feet have been cooled in the running water. We have set up a picnic in the largest bit of shade we could find and will stay here until the day has cooled enough to continue our journey comfortably.

This morning, while we walked, Gellert and I discussed designs for a new order of witchcraft and wizardry: in what ways could we reveal magic to the muggle world without inviting persecution which would derail our plans? How would we exercise our innate magical power over a less powerful people without compromising basic human decency? Where would muggleborn wizards and witches belong in such an order? What about their families? Would blood status even matter, or just innate ability for magic?

It has been highly stimulating to theorise these points with someone so very much my equal in intellect. I can’t imagine ever debating the relative merits and failings of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy with Elphias or the insignificance of blood status in relative magic prowess with Harvey Ridgebit.

As for the walk itself, we have generally stayed close to the established trail, detouring to the occasional interest point to scour for any small clues. We spent a little while exploring a small cave, at the point where the river bends towards the west, illuminating the damp walls, running our hands over the stone to find any strange notches or marks, using every revelatory and investigative spell we could think of, but discovered nothing.

Indeed, we have yet to come across anything remotely like a sign of the Hallows.

Gellert appears to me to be frustrated by this fact. Certainly, he seems surprised that we have not uncovered any major discovery at this point. Me? I am excited to make this journey but I have come to realise that I have placed far less expectation than he on our actually finding anything useful.

For me, our journey is an escape from my responsibilities, a wonderful opportunity to discuss our ideas, our values, our dreams, with the advantage of a pilgrimage to a site we have identified as significant to the tale of the Deathly Hallows.

For Gellert, I think it may be a crusade.

A.

* * *

Friday, 21 July 1899

The sun rose about an hour ago, but Gellert is still sound asleep. I am taking the opportunity to write while I have the time, as we are due to make our final push upstream to the gorge, the point of the deepest part of the river and the speculated bridge site, and I am unsure when my next opportunity might be.

We walked another four or so hours yesterday after our sojourn by the river. The day slowly began to cool, little by little, as the sun sank lower in the sky, and we eventually came to rest at another bend in the river, at a place where the sand was a strange black and the banks began to rise into steep rock cliffs.

I chose to set our tent on a grassy patch a little way back from the path and the river. Gellert stayed close to the water’s edge and toyed again with the blue flame he had shown me, then performed some wandless summoning, then, when he grew bored of that too, manipulated a small orb of water out of the river and rolled it about in his hands like a ball of crystal. It caught my eye now and then as it glinted in the sun, making me smile while I worked.

After our dinner, Gellert found some wine in his bag and, once it was dark, we lay under the stars, drinking from the bottle as we did on the night we met and naming the constellations we could see.

I could sense how close he was to me, as we lay there on the picnic blanket and gazed up at the stars. I could feel the warmth of him, pressed against my side, the light scent of lavender from the laundry soap favoured by his hostess mixed with the earthier one of summer sweat and dust from the trail. It was not unpleasant but rather familiar, comforting.

Now and then, he’d reach across and clasp my hand, or press his own against my arm or my shoulder in excitement as he described the foreign mythologies he’d learned for each constellation. Each time he touched me, it sent that familiar thrill through my spine, that warmth through my middle, that unbearable lightness in my heart. The moment he moved even closer to rest his head against my shoulder, his blond curls tickling my chin as he continued to animatedly describe the parallel cultural origins of the Pleiades myth, I knew I was lost totally and completely.

I found myself lightheaded, feeling as though I would fall off the very ground upon which I lay. It was though I had forgotten how to breathe, as though breathing, that terribly human thing, would bring this wonderful moment to an end. I started to wildly consider doing something rash, for now he was so close I could almost taste the alcohol on his breath and _oh_ how I wanted to taste it from his lips. He turned his face up towards mine, his deep eyes clouded over with some indescribable emotion, and pushed a stray lock of auburn from my own and…

I came to my senses when he remarked that we had finished the wine, that it was late and that we ought to get some rest – his precise words, I admit I cannot recall through that fog of drunkenness and lust. I let him leave me there on the blanket, burning for more.

Now in the cold light of morning, I feel more than a little shame as I reflect upon last night and I remind myself of my pledge to neither do nor say anything which will impact upon our friendship.

…Although I may be willing to risk it this morning, as I have a mind to wake him shortly with a bucket of river water over his head. That would be an excellent laugh, and we are overdue to start our day’s adventure.

A.

_Postscript, afternoon_

The river water did the trick in waking Gellert, although delayed us by nearly an hour more due to the ensuing water-duel and the subsequent, necessary, drying spells on everything in range before we could pack away our camp. Our incessant laughter made our accuracy a little patchy, but eventually everything was dried to satisfaction and stowed into our bags again, and we started back on the trail.

Our conversation today has tended towards divination, as Gellert is pondering methods by which to share his Visions. He tells me that he has tried to harness the crystal ball, the cards, even fashioning a pensieve to try to capture his memories of what he has Seen, but nothing seems to him to accurately convey a Vision in the vivid detail he wishes to share. Sadly, I was unable to offer any solutions – I never elected to study the subject at Hogwarts and until I met Gellert my interest in the art was limited to say the least – but I gather he appreciated using me as a sounding board for his musings.

We are making good time, though slower than expected as the path so far today has been very steep and narrow at points. According to the marker at the side of the path where we are currently paused for our lunch we have only 2 miles until the gorge.

Our collective excitement is palpable.

Once more unto the breach!

* * *

> _There were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely, winding road at twilight. In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water._
> 
> \- The Tale of the Three Brothers

* * *

Morning, Saturday, 22 July 1899

We found the crossing point yesterday, but we did not find any evidence of the Three Brothers, nor of the Hallows, nor any bridge that may or may not have crossed the river at that point. I was excited to reach it, despite my own scepticism that we would find anything significant to our cause. However, I never expected the violent, bitter disappointment demonstrated by Gellert as we searched the river bank for anything resembling the foundations of a bridge.

The path, which had climbed steeply along the cliffs, had eventually started to move back down towards the river. Suddenly, we came to a clearing at the widest point of the river, sheer rock cliffs towering well above our heads on either side. The river was precisely as described in the Tale, too deep to wade through, too dangerous to swim across, the water foaming and spraying as it raced across the boulders in its path, the walls of the cliffs shining wet where the river came close. Here, the walking trail abruptly came to a halt; this point is designed for hikers to now either turn back the way they had come or, as the area has been spelled against muggles for the purpose, apparate to the path on the opposite bank, which leads up into the forest and then back downstream to the starting point.

Gellert and I, as it would transpire, took neither option.

At first, we were happy methodically sorting through driftwood and river stones, but after nearly an hour of careful examination, it became clear that there was nothing for us to find relating to the Hallows.

Gellert’s precision gave way to frustrated sloppiness, which in turn gave way to angry upending of the piles of sorted debris, before he started to blast anything and everything in his path with curse after curse, crying out in snatches of German which I could not understand.

I hadn’t entertained any idea that this bold, mischievous, intelligent young man could be caught up by such a fit of emotion; I suppose I had thought such outbursts below an individual of his logical, intellectual mien. But here he was, one of the brightest and most powerful wizards of our generation, decimating river stones and reeds with angry swipes of his wand.

I was not afraid of him in that moment, as maybe I should have been, but rather enchanted by the humanity of the display and, perhaps more saliently, enflamed by the power wrought by his emotion. Still, I drew my own wand and went carefully to my friend, who was now resting against the rock face, breathing heavily, his eyes brimming with rage and tears, wand still loosely clasped in a limp hand.

“I know this isn’t what you imagined…” I started, imbuing as much compassion as I could into my voice.

“What I _imagined?_ ” he turned to me, his voice breaking. “I didn’t imagine. I _Saw_. You and I. The bridge.” He paused there, and sank to the ground. “When I first began my search for the Hallows, last year at Durmstrang, I had a recurrent Vision. I did not know then that it would be _you_ who would join me, but in my mind I saw this place, a bridge. I could sense a greatness here.” He looked up at me, then continued, sadder, softer, “I think that maybe that greatness was you. Not a Hallow at all.”

My heart leapt a little, but I pushed the feeling aside.

“What if that greatness was _us_?” I asked, a brilliant idea coming to mind, “What if we make the bridge appear? After all, aren’t we _learned in the magical arts,_ as the Three Brothers were?”

Gellert sprang up from against the rock and embraced me so quickly that he nearly tipped me over where I stood.

“Albus, you genius!” he exclaimed, pressing a quick kiss to my check. “You absolute genius. The bridge was made of magic, there is nothing to be found. It is to be _emulated_ not excavated!”

My cheek tingled where his lips had been. I think I must have been red all over in that moment, from my hair to my toes, as he took my hand in his and led me then to the water’s edge. We stood there a moment, my right hand in his left, wands at the ready, looking across the raging river to the bank on the other side and the thick forest that awaited us.

“How do we do this, then?” my voice was tentative as I adjusted the grip of my wand in my left hand.

“You were the one who suggested this!” Gellert laughed at me, then grew more serious in that way of his, “I think… we should just feel it… conjure it same as anything else…”

“Or transfigure it from all that?” I suggested, gesturing to the scattered piles of driftwood. “Or perhaps a combination of the two? A hybrid of sorts of that which comes most naturally to each of us.”

“A true manifestation of our abilities combined,” he squeezed my hand, “and of the greatness of _our power_ combined.”

There are no words in the English language – nor in any language in which I have any proficiency – to describe just how _right_ it felt as we created that bridge, the power of our magic thrumming and pulsing through our conjoined hands.

Before us, steel beams were wrought from air, driftwood soared up, shifted form and settled into place. River stones grew and transformed into solid blocks of granite. Sparks flew where disparate materials welded and merged until they solidified into a sturdy arch across the deepest, most dangerous part of the river. It was striking, a wonder to behold. Made all the more beautiful by its being a demonstration of all that we are capable of together.

And together, wordlessly, we surged forward across our creation. I was afraid of nothing in that moment, I could have taken on the entire world with Gellert beside me.

He brought us to a halt when we reached the other side. “I think we should leave this bridge here. As a monument to the Tale and to the Hallows.”

I nodded in agreement, bringing our joined hands to my chest, “And a monument to our quest together.”

He smiled fondly, but his eyes were still clouded over with sadness and… now something I could not identify. His hand dropped from mine and it was unexpectedly as though the spell between us had broken. Whatever magic had drawn us together was all the weaker for the loss of connection. I felt bereft and I’m sure the pain must have shown on my face, because he turned away from me.

No longer were we the leaders of our revolution for the greater good of all wizardkind, now we were just Albus and Gellert again. Two seventeen-year-olds on a hiking trip, one path and a bridge to the rear of us, another path and a forest ahead.

We walked maybe a half mile further into the forest before it began to grow dark. We found a clearing and started to set our camp together, illuminated by wandlight, barely a word spoken between us. Unlike many of the other silences we have shared over the past fortnight, this one was uncomfortable. For my part, I kept thinking over Gellert’s rage, his passion, and the strange magic which had passed between us at the bridge. I would give anything to know his own thoughts during that silence.

Once we were done with the tent, neither of us had the energy or interest to start a campfire or to prepare a proper meal, so we boiled water for the tea by magic and made do with bread and jam. When we were finished, Gellert stood up, announced he was off to bed, and left me alone in the small sitting area of the tent.

I sat there a long time with only my thoughts for company, too tired to journal, my mind too tumultuous to concentrate on reading, before I took myself off to bed also. Gellert was already apparently asleep, curled up on his camp bed with his back to me. I got into my own camp bed and curled in the opposite direction, training my eyes and thoughts away from him as I drifted off to sleep, ready to leave the day behind me.

Sometime before dawn, the skies opened. I was awoken by the heavy sound of rain on the canvas, a curious dip in my mattress and a chilled body pressing itself to mine.

“Is cold,” Gellert whispered in my ear, teeth shattering. I realised then through my sleepy befuddlement how cold I was too, instinctively seeking out any meagre heat he offered.

“It’s the storm,” I responded and slipped back towards sleep, allowing myself to be held by him.

And that was how I woke this morning, warm in the arms of my dearest friend, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. I felt surrounded by a glow of affection and something almost akin to the thrumming of magic we had experienced at the bridge. And more… that same longing I had felt laying with him under the stars…

It terrified me, so I carefully extracted myself from his embrace, retrieved the blanket from his empty camp bed, and retreated back to the sitting area to write until he wakes.

I honestly don’t know how to feel, what to think, what to do. Can I honestly believe that Gellert’s affection is only friendly? What of that kiss yesterday? Was it a cross-cultural misunderstanding, or can I dare to hope that he returns what I feel for him?

Moreover, what sort of Gryffindor am I to be so lacking in the courage to act for fear of the unknown?

A.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title this chapter comes from ["Private Universe" by Crowded House](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cPa70RNgOzk). (Amusingly, I've just returned from travelling New Zealand, homeland of Crowded House.)
> 
> If you're interested, there is also a Spotify Playlist I am curating for this fic which includes all of the title songs, plus others which have inspired/will inspire chapters. You can listen or follow it [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/22i2kqveqkxdpd26i3nn4jh3q/playlist/5d5MSzQgKryu6l13XcphvT?si=yXniJbAMSSCh7gSSkym1Mw).
> 
> Thank you for your patience in waiting for this chapter. It's been a bit of a fuss travelling with only an iPad and having very little writing time or internet access, but I'm back home again now!
> 
> And, once again, thanks for all of your lovely supportive comments. It makes me so happy to know I have such an amazing group of readers to write for. <3


	8. You're the face of the future, the blood in my veins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus and Gellert learn more about each other and their relationship experiences a subtle shift.

 

> _Did I know, in my heart of hearts, what Gellert Grindelwald was? I think I did, but I closed my eyes. If the plans we were making came to fruition, all my dreams would come true._
> 
> \- Albus Dumbledore, “Kings Cross"

* * *

Evening, Saturday 22 July 1899

After I finished journaling this morning, I had every intention of making a campfire outdoors to cook our breakfast, but as soon as I opened the tent and observed the steady mist of rain still falling, it was obvious that it would be an unwise course of action. Instead, I lit the potbelly stove in the sitting area and busied myself with eggs and bacon as the rain outside grew heavy again.

Gellert emerged a little while later, looking brighter than he had yesterday. He made no mention of last night, nor of waking in my bed, but instead chattered away about his new ideas for tracing the Peverell family line when we return to Godric’s Hollow. Some of that fear I felt upon waking in his arms dissolved as we fell back in our comfortable companionship.

After we finished our breakfast, we made another pot of tea and laid out our map and notes on the floor, reassessing the last part of the journey ahead. Having promised Professor Bagshot that we will return tomorrow, or on Monday evening at the very latest, we were faced with a choice: to make a detour to the top of Peverell’s Hill, a return walk from our camp site adding a half-day to our journey, or to continue in the opposite direction to our final apparition point.

To say that I am reluctant to return home any quicker than entirely necessary would be an understatement.

Gellert picked the apprehension in my voice as soon I tried to weigh the merits of ploughing on through the mud for expediency’s sake, the benefits in returning to my siblings sooner rather than later, of sparing the Professor her troubles.

“You are too responsible and virtuous by far, Albus,” he told me, resting his head momentarily on my shoulder before moving to fold the map away, “As far as I am concerned, it is settled. We leave our camp set here, take the Hill this morning and return this afternoon to wait out the rain. Tomorrow we travel as far as the lake, then Monday we complete the final stretch and apparate home as promised.”

It was a pleasant walk in the rain, our cloaks and boots charmed to repel the water, each of us taking turn to hold an umbrella spell against the rain while the other continued to use various revelatory charms in the vain hope of finding anything out of the ordinary. But alas, it was just an ordinary hiking trail, nothing to find but leaves and fallen branches and forest creatures.

Still, there is something quite magical in the aroma of a forest in the rain. It is a noble and ancient scent of a place that has been there long before us and will be there long afterwards, mixed in with a perfume of new growth in fertile earth.

The forest reminds me that there is a power in nature which no witch or wizard can ever truly know, at once just as raw but yet totally unlike the power which was shared between Gellert and I yesterday at the bridge.

As we huddled under our wand-umbrella at the peak of Peverell’s Hill, looking out into the rainy mist which obscured any chance of a spectacular view, I could tell that something between us has changed since the bridge. It’s a subtle change, but it’s unmistakably there in the closing of the distance between us, when he catches my eye and smiles, the bright spark of magic when his hand brushes mine.

And, after yesterday, I feel I now know a darkness to him too, a darkness which balances out all of his brightness. I think, in way, I had thought Gellert to be something other than human before now. Untouchable by the kinds of petty grievances I have with the world. Somehow floating above all that, a perfect specimen of magical intellect and might.

Once again, I find myself asking those questions which I posed before I even met Gellert, about the nature of Dark Magic and of that magic which comes from those darker emotions we feel, and I voiced some of my thoughts to him as we made our way back down the Hill to our campsite once more.

Gellert’s face took on the most peculiar expression, something between awe and amusement, and he grinned with a strange pride as he replied: “What has brought this on?”

“Nothing in particular,” I replied light-heartedly, twirling the wand umbrella and watching raindrops spin away, “it’s just something I’ve been mulling over for a while. I’m curious what makes the Dark, dark, and the Light, light. For instance, by what means is Darkness by nature inherent in certain spells?”

“In my opinion, Dark Magic is only a name, a label for that which wizards fear.” I was unsurprised to hear his voice take on that familiar, serious tone.

“How so?”

“That which is labelled Dark is that which injures, or controls, or changes nature in a way deemed unsatisfactory to the population at large,” he replied, as though that settled the matter.

“Is it not rational to fear those things?” I countered.

A wild, excited expression blossomed on Gellert’s face – I recognised it as one I must have displayed many times in the heat of debate. “But a fear of what, Albus? Of the outcome of the magic itself, or of the process by which it is created? Or is it a fear of doing something deemed by someone, somewhere to be wretched?”

I tried to follow. “Do you mean the Unforgivables?”

“ _Unverzeihbar_ ,” he scoffed. “Unforgivable curses are so poorly named. They, and their consequences, are only ever unforgivable in certain hands. We allow capital punishment, and there is always a case to be made, however small, for taking control of a situation where necessary or for inflicting pain in interrogation of a spy. What we call Unforgivable is never truly unforgiveable when enacted by those in positions of power.”

I paused where I stood and turned to him, a little uncertain of his point. “So if you and I were in the positions of power?”

“Then we would define that which is labelled Dark,” he replied pointedly, the corner of his mouth twisting into a smile, which I couldn’t help but return.

“I suppose you’d know a great deal about Dark magic from your time at Durmstrang. I hear it’s rather celebrated in the North.”

“Celebrated, no. But certainly there is a different level of tolerance for certain kinds of magic, particularly on magic used on others, than in Great Britain.” Here, Gellert shrugged and started to walk again, his cheeks going a little red. “Unfortunately however, that tolerance wasn’t enough to keep me from being expelled.”

We hadn’t ever really discussed his expulsion from Durmstrang and I was intrigued, “So it _was_ Dark magic then, that they objected to in the end?”

“Not exactly,” he replied, kicking a stone along our path, “I was trying to devise a better way by which to identify muggleborn children with inherent magical ability so that they may be nurtured in magic from a young age, well before coming to school.”

“Something like the Quill of Acceptance and the Book of Admittance at Hogwarts?”

“Yes, something like that,” he murmured, not meeting my eye.

“That doesn’t sound so terrible! Why on earth did you get expelled?”

“Ahhh,” he sighed, looking sheepish as he turned to face me again, “this is where I met my downfall. I realise now that the methods I proposed were a little… extreme.”

I frowned at him. “Extreme?”

“One of the boys who shared my dormitory read my plans for the experimental phase of the work. It…” Gellert took a deep breath, “required testing on muggle children. And I was a little younger then, a little less clever than I am now, and I thought that perhaps confounding and kidnapping two or three from the local village on our next weekend out, just for an hour or two, might provide me with what I needed.”

Against my will, I let out a small gasp, unsure what to make of this revelation.

“Please don’t be so shocked, Albus,” he held my hand comfortingly. “I understand now that not everyone could _See_ what I could, that the short-term sacrifice of a few children, children who would recall nothing once I was finished with them, would one day allow us to save their magically-inclined peers from a childhood of torment and torture from muggles who could not possibly understand.”

I could see our campsite through the trees now. Gellert brought us again to a halt, lifting my hand which he held up to his chest, to his heart, as though making a vow.

“If I could save every magical child from the pain your dear sister had inflicted upon her, I would experiment upon a hundred muggle children, a thousand. I know nothing can be done for Ariana now, but I would do anything to keep our people safe.”

I had no words for him, only an ache for what could have been for Ariana, another path for our entire family, a different world where magic was supreme and untouchable.

And then, I began think of a world which Gellert and I could rule over together, where everything was good, and right, and safe for wizards and witches everywhere.

I could feel tears pricking at the edges of my eyes as I let the wand-umbrella fall and I embraced Gellert, the light rain falling upon us. He held me, one hand wound into my hair, as I sobbed into his shoulder.

We returned to the tent a little while later. Sombre. Damp.

Our afternoon since has been lazy, the easing rain a pleasing soundscape to our leisure. A couple of games of chess, an hour or so of reading, now a little writing - me, my journal, and Gellert, his manifesto. Now and then, our hands meeting in reassurance, affection.

That familiar pulse of magic between us.

A.

* * *

Sunday, 23 July 1899

Gellert came to my bed again last night, this time with none of the pretence of the night before, but with an almost-timid confession. As we readied ourselves for sleep, he told me that he had ‘found my proximity soothed his busy mind’.

Who was I to deny him such a relief?

We ended up pushing the two camp beds together, creating a nest of blankets and pillows, and lay there, curled in towards each other, whispering our plans for the future of all wizardkind, until we both drifted to sleep.

Sadly, morning came all too soon.

The walk through the forest to our destination was further than we had travelled on any other day and, without the benefit of a river to cool our feet in, I felt weary and overheated by the time we reached the lake’s edge.

Together, we set our camp quickly, before stripping down to our undergarments and diving into the cold water.

I thought I might have been more shy, showing so much of myself, seeing so much of Gellert like that. But I found there was no shyness between us at all. That which we have shared between us from our minds, from our magic, is far more intimate than two young men splashing about in a lake on a hot summer’s afternoon.

We swam out to the small island in the middle of the lake and lounged on the warm rocks, discussing all manner of magical creatures which might inhabit the place, until the sun started to set and our hungry bellies could not keep us from the campsite any longer.

Tonight’s meal was a feast of everything still left in our bags – the last of the bread toasted, a little cheese and sausage which we had charmed to stay cool, pickled vegetables, and some beer Gellert had been saving for the occasion of our final night.

Ravenous, we gorged ourselves, then sated, sunburned and sleepy, we lay on the picnic blanket, gazing upon the full moon as it rose, great and white in the clear, starry sky. And between us, that ever-present undercurrent, that hum of magic and belonging.

Gellert has fallen asleep on my lap, his head resting against my thigh, while I write. He is a different creature asleep, all the fire and passion giving way to a beautiful softness in his face. He looks almost angelic.

As little as I wish to wake him, I really should so that we might get a proper night’s sleep _inside_ the tent.

A.

* * *

Monday, 24 July 1899

We both slept late today, emerging from the tent when the sun was already high in the sky. There was a reluctance as we packed up our little campsite for the final time and covered the few miles back to the apparation point.

The sun had begun to set by the time we half-heartedly returned to Godric’s Hollow, apparating to a safe point in the garden of the tavern, rather than directly home. Any small excuse to drag out our return that little bit longer.

Though I was footsore and weary from our journey, I felt alive with that current of magic which continued to thrum between us as we made our way through the square. Thrum each time I looked at Gellert, each time I caught him looking back. And, whenever our hands met, it roared through my entire body.

We found the stream between the houses and walked back along the narrow path, a cool breeze at our backs. When we finally reached our gate, I turned to him.

“Thank you for this adventure.”

“No, thank you for indulging my whim,” Gellert insisted. “I’m sorry we didn’t discover anything to make the journey worthwhile.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Surely the journey is more important than the destination?” I attempted to brush away the hair that had once again fallen into my face.

Gellert made a little noise and leaned forward then, his hand tucking the stray lock more firmly behind my ear. The sensation as his fingers, the edge of his palm, brushed against my cheek sent a shiver down my spine and a fire into my gut, filling me with that longing, that need. He was so close to me.

And so, throwing all caution to the wind, I did the thing that felt most natural in that moment, more natural than anything I had ever felt a need to do before – I bridged that small gap left between us, running my own fingers through his blond curls, and pressed my lips to his in a kiss.

At first he stilled, and I feared some terrible misstep, but then his hand came to my jaw and he pulled me closer and kissed me deeper, harder.

After a moment of bliss that could have been a second, a minute, a lifetime, Gellert drew away from me, running a thumb against his swollen lower lip, his deep blue eyes wild.

He took a shuddering, deep breath, then stammered out a hurried “Goodnight, Albus”, before turning upon his heel and leaving me, breathless, reeling, propped up against the gate.

I thought my heart might burst from my chest.

I don’t know quite how I made it back home – I vaguely recall stumbling through the kitchen door and offering Professor Bagshot some word of thanks for her assistance, then staving off Ariana and Aberforth’s questions and mumbling something about being tired, about needing to lie down right away – but somehow I made it to my room and at once collapsed upon my bed.

I must have lain there nearly an hour, allowing myself to bask in the glow of Gellert’s kiss, my mind whirling with thoughts of him. By the time I came to my senses, the sun had fully set and my room had grown so dark that I could no longer see my own hands before my face.

Now, as I record this, I can see the glow of the candlelight in his room across the way.

I have such a longing to be there with him.

A.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is a lyric from ["Believer" by Imagine Dragons](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7wtfhZwyrcc).
> 
> Thank you again for all of your comments on the last chapter and for your kind words on Tumblr! <3 I will go through and reply to you all when I have a moment - it's been a crazy week here. If you want to keep up with how my writing is going, or just my general nerdy shitposting, feel free to head over to musicalmskitty on Tumblr.
> 
> An extra-special thank you to Gina for her lovely fanart (!!!) of Ariana from Chapter 6. You can see [it on Twitter right here](https://mobile.twitter.com/ginagemeni/status/1085028490863243264?s=20).


	9. I will try hard to hold onto you with open arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus and Gellert try to understand what their kiss by the gate meant to each of them.

 

> _Ultimately, the quest for the Elder Wand merely supports an observation I have had occasion to make many times over the course of my long life: that humans have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them._
> 
> \- Albus Dumbledore’s notes on “The Tale of the Three Brothers” in  _The Tales of Beedle the Bard._  

* * *

Tuesday, 25 July 1899

If it wasn’t for the light sunburn on my nose and the lingering ache in my legs, I could have sworn the last five days were a dream. All the more, because of the dream-like state I find myself in since last night.

Since that kiss.

When I woke this morning, I wanted nothing more than to race across to see Gellert immediately, to confirm that what had happened between us was not, in fact, some strange working of my exhausted mind.

However, once I had dressed and started unpacking from the journey, I restrained myself to only send him a short note before breakfast, leaving off any mention of that moment at the gate lest it be intercepted:

_Gellert-_

_I think I will need to get some things in order around the house today._  
_Laundry will not wash itself, nor our meals materialise from thin air, without my prompting._  
_Join me if you like, I’d be very pleased to have your company._

_Albus._

And so, with the thought that Gellert might soon join me, I began my day on a veritable cloud of light-headed joy. Unfortunately, as soon as I went downstairs, the realities of life in Godric’s Hollow threatened to bring me firming back to earth.

Take the goats, for example. I learned about those over breakfast.

Apparently Charlie Prewett came to visit Aberforth on Thursday, with the express purpose of seeing the newly-completed shed, and brought with him two young goats. Just for Aberforth. As a gift. A hungry, bothersome gift. By the time Charlie had gone home and the Professor realised what had happened, Ariana was already totally taken by the beasts and had named them Patty and Maggie. And that was that, there was no giving them back then. Aberforth will get to keep them, adding yet another expense to our household budget.

And, for another matter, the bills! They came after I had set the charms to wash the breakfast dishes.

How only five days away could amass such a mountain of parchment detailing the various monies owed to every butcher, baker and potions-maker our family has purchased from over the past month! Not to mention Aberforth’s Hogwarts letter, with its extensive booklist for his sixth year subjects, almost none of which he will be able to use from my collection as the prescribed texts have changed in the two years since.

Luckily, among the piles of correspondence was the news that a little money has finally come in from my writing, and Transfiguration Today would like another article for its October issue if I can spare the time. And, more excitingly, several vials of dragon’s blood have arrived from Harvey Ridgebit, so I will be able to commence my experiments soon.

It was past noon by the time I finished sorting through all of the letters, at which point Ariana had joined me at the kitchen table, re-reading one of her favourite novels. She was already a good way through _Miss Persephone and the Prince of Flames_ , a slim volume with a vibrant phoenix motif on the cover, when Gellert arrived, laden with a basket of fresh plums from the garden.

He looked a vision in night-dark clothes far finer than he had worn on our adventure, and his hair shone golden in the midday sun. After our kiss last night, it was as though I was seeing him again for the very first time, as though _now_ I was finally able to admire his true resplendence. That this beautiful young man is just as taken by me as I am with him floors me.

“I can’t stay long,” he apologised, setting the basket on the table and taking a plum for himself. “Tante Hilda has an extensive list of tasks she requires me to complete today. I did not quite realise how much I had agreed to in exchange for our short holiday.”

I gestured at the pile of parchment before me and laughed, “You don’t need to tell me!”

Gellert smiled in return, taking a bite from the plum in his hand. As the juice ran down his chin, the kitchen table between us felt like an entire ocean of distance and, if Ariana had not been there, I’m sure I would have jumped out of my seat right then to taste it on his skin. That magic between us crackled, wanting touch, wanting connection. I burned for it.

“Will you join us for lunch?” Ariana asked cheerily, snapping me out of my reverie.

“I wish I could, but I promised I would get back. I can only stall a moment or two. Are you a fan of the Miss Persephone stories, Ariana?” he asked, gesturing to her book with the half-eaten plum.

“Oh yes,” she grinned in return. “Have you read them?”

“Never,” he replied, “but I’m told they have some excellent mythology about them. I think from the cover that this is the book where she finds the phoenix?”

One more bite and the plum was finished. He tossed the stone out of the kitchen window, into the flowerbed below.

“It is. It’s quite a beautiful moment in the story.” Ariana put her book down on the table and asked, “Has Albus told you about our family’s affinity with phoenixes then?”

“I can’t say he has,” Gellert looked to me with interest. “Your brother has something of the phoenix about him, with that handsome flame-dark hair, doesn’t he, Ariana?”

I felt myself flushing with the embarrassment of his intimacy in my sister’s presence. “Gellert, please…”

“Look, he’s burning all over now!” Ariana laughed. “He never did take a compliment well.”

I cleared my throat pointedly, trying to bring us back to the point at hand. “There’s a legend in our family that a phoenix will come to any Dumbledore in great need. We were told that our great-great-grandfather had one, but that after his death it took flight and was never to be seen again. It’s quite the romantic legend and I maintain that it may very well be true, but Ariana has chosen this story, of all the fantastic things in our world, to be the one not to believe in.”

“If there really was a Dumbledore family phoenix, don’t you think it might have come to us by now?” Ariana countered, the lightness in her voice belying what I knew to be a sore point for her. “Surely we’ve had enough tragedy to deserve one.”

There was an awkward silence, broken only by the soft bleating of the goats from the garden outside. After a moment, Gellert cleared his throat and, in an oddly formal tone, said “I really should get back to my aunt. It was good to see you again, Ariana.”

“I’ll walk you back,” I made to stand up, but he shook his head at me and waved a hand in dismissal.

“No, you have plenty to do here… perhaps we can go for a walk this evening? I’ll call after dinner?”

“After dinner,” I agreed.

I have tried to occupy my mind with work this afternoon, anything to distract me until the appointed time, but my dream-like state from this morning has only intensified in anticipation of seeing Gellert tonight and the thought of holding him in my arms once again.

A.

* * *

Wednesday, 26 July 1899

How could I have been so...

[The remaining text is for the day is illegible, crossed over again and again with angry lines. One page has been torn out from the spine, another obscured by dark strain of spilled ink.]

* * *

 

Thursday, 27 July 1899

I feel nothing and everything all at once. It is too much to bear.

What great and ancient god have I offended to be granted such a lot in life, to be presented the most dizzying heights of joy and most crushing defeat, all from just one man?

I am wretched, so utterly wretched that I haven’t been able to move myself from bed. Two days, feigning headache to keep Ariana and Aberforth away, ignoring their pleas and questions.

I cannot eat. I cannot sleep. I cannot un-hear the words which were spoken. I cannot un-see the look on Gellert’s face as he told me…

By the time Gellert finally came to the kitchen door to collect me on that stupid, painful evening, it was almost midnight and the candles which I had lit to keep my vigil had nearly melted down to nothing.

There were no words spoken between us as we walked out into the cool night air, the garden illuminated only by the waning moon, not a single light left burning in either of our houses. As soon as we reached the cover of the hedge, I took Gellert’s hand and tried to draw him closer to me, but he turned away and instead led me to the stream, sitting us down in the same spot where we’d skipped stones on our first night together. His hand stayed in mine.

“Can we talk about yesterday?” He had that same tentative, timid look about him as he had when he’d asked to share my bed.

“Of course,” I replied, squeezing his hand in reassurance.

Gellert took a deep breath, seemingly gathering his thoughts, then started to speak softly, slowly, his eyes trained on our joined hands. “Ever since that moment at the bridge, there’s been this strange magic telling me that I need to be close to you, to touch you. It’s nothing like anything I’ve ever felt before.”

“I feel it too,” I reassured him, bending to meet his eyes, “it’s like this pulsing, thrumming thing in my chest.”

“Yes!” Gellert smiled nervously, bring our clasped hands to his own chest. “And each time we touch, I feel a spark of something so powerful that it fills up every part of my being. But then you kissed me yesterday…” he trailed off, letting my hand fall, breaking eye contact again.

“I don’t follow. Are you saying that the feeling _stopped_ for you after we kissed?”

For my own part, it had only grown stronger since I had learned how it felt to have Gellert pressed against me, his lips against mine. (Oh, how that knowledge curses me now!)

“Nooo,” he prevaricated, his cheeks growing pink, “not precisely. But I had thought the feeling only to be raw magic. Something of our shared power that needed proximity to manifest. I was so caught up in the idea that this was some great magical mystery hitherto undiscovered that, until that kiss, I hadn’t thought that perhaps it was just... well...”

I felt my heart sink. “Just what?”

Gellert looked at me so woefully then, as though he was almost disappointed, and whispered, “An infatuation.”

“Oh,” I turned away from him and looking up to the stars. I felt as though something was churning in my chest, crushing inwards upon itself, and I could not bring myself to look back at Gellert. “Was I mistaken then, in thinking you return my regard for you?”

“No more than I was in knowing my own mind. These feelings.... I’ve never… not with other boys… and I don’t know if I…” He let out a frustrated noise, taking hold of my shoulder and pulling me back to look at him again. “You might be comfortable in your passions, Albus. Maybe you are more prepared for these feelings than I am. But I need… I need a little time to process this revelation.”

“Take all the time you need,” I implored, reaching out to stroke his hair in comfort.

“Thank you,” Gellert leaned into my touch, closing his eyes. “I need to know where the magic ends and where you and I begin. I need to understand how you fit in my life, in the future I have Seen.”

“Whether you wish to act on this… infatuation, if that’s what you wish to call it, or not, I will be here by your side. You are my greatest friend, my only equal. I will be yours in whatever way you need me. Lover or comrade, lieutenant or leader, for the Greater Good.”

And that was the truth of it, laid bare before him.

He said nothing in return, but nodded and moved away from my touch before standing up, brushing off the grass and turning towards the house, waving a wordless farewell.

I too returned home, a little shaken. Gellert’s words had cut me, but I did not yet bleed, for in that moment I still held hope, hope that reflection would bring him back to me.

In fact, it was only a matter of hours before he came to me.

I was fast asleep when, at the break of dawn, I woke to the distinctive crack of apparation and the sound of rasping sobs.

“You have destroyed me,” Gellert wept, sinking to the floor by my bed, his head resting at my feet, his deep blue eyes rimmed red. He was still wearing the same clothes as the day before, now rumpled, a vision of dishevelment. “I haven’t sleep a wink for the thought of you.”

Half-asleep, I sat up and hushed him, “Gellert… you’ll wake my siblings…”

“ _Muffilato_ ,” he waved a hand absent-mindedly, then surged from his place on the floor, all limbs as he climbed up to press his lips against mine.

I could taste the salt of his tears in our kiss, which was over as quickly as it began. No sooner than I placed a hand against his chest, Gellert pulled away with a frustrated cry, leaping again from the bed to pace the length of my small room, a hand rubbing against his wet lips. I sat up properly now to watch him – he was a fierce thing of pent-up energy, just as he had been before the bridge.

 “Ours is a true union of minds, a true meeting of souls, we shouldn’t…” He looked at me quickly, then away, then back again, “We don’t need anything so _base_ as all this. Our love is beyond worldly things.”

“Our... love?” I could feel my voice sticking in my throat, my heart aching with confusion.

“Yes, love,” he replied, with a tone that suggested that I wasn’t keeping up. “The most powerful magic of all. How could I have been so stupid?” He fell to his knees beside me in supplication, taking both my hands in his. “Albus, don’t you see? We must come to our senses. Our passions will blind us from our cause, turn us away from each other.”

“I disagree,” I leaned down towards him and pressed a kiss against his forehead, “for what could bind us together more surely than this?”

“It would be our destruction,” Gellert whispered, turning his head away. “How would we lead our revolution? Who in the world would follow the call of two known sodomites?”

“So we keep it a secret,” I offered, “Just between us. The world never need know.”

He let go of my hands and stood up again, all that wild energy expended and replaced with a quiet despondence. “And in five years, or ten, when people start to ask questions and one of us marries a nice girl to keep up appearances? How would you feel then?” Gellert shook his head. “No, Albus. We can’t do this.”

“Well… if that’s how you feel about it…” I could feel hot, wet tears rolling down my own cheeks now.

“I should leave,” Gellert said quietly. “Not… not for good. Just for now.”

“Can I hold you, before you leave?” I asked hopefully, wanting this one last thing from him before he went, “Just for a moment?”

“I don’t think that would be wise. I’m not sure I could let go,” Gellert sighed deeply. “Goodbye, Albus. I will see you in a day or two, once I’ve had some time to think.”

“Wait, don’t-”

My room rang with the crack of disapparation before silence crept in upon me again, leaving me along with nothing but my disappointment and heartache for company.

And so I have languished since.

He has not returned to me.

A.

* * *

Friday, 28 July 1899

There is still no sign of Gellert.

I have the greatest urge to write to Elphias, to someone to share the wretched inner-workings of my mind. But what would I tell him?

 _Sorry I haven’t been in touch for the past few weeks, but I accidentally fell in love with my neighbour’s nephew_. _We took a grand adventure of our own and I’d hoped it was the start of something special, but_ _don’t worry, it doesn’t appear to have amounted to anything more than a broken heart. How’s the continent, by the way? Don’t forget to send a postcard!_

I think not.

Love that dares not speak its name, indeed.

A.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title lyric is from ["Daredevil" by Fiona Apple](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3907cSye6iM).
> 
> The course of love never did run smooth, however I can promise that there will be some happy times again before our inevitable tragic ending of the summer.
> 
> Thank you again for your kind words and comments! You inspire me to write what I do.


	10. You know I don't want to be free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their reunion, an experiment leads Albus and Gellert down the path of Dark Magic with interesting, and permanent, consequences.

 

> _Perfection is beyond the reach of humankind, beyond the reach of magic. In every shining moment of happiness is that drop of poison: the knowledge that pain will come again. Be honest to those you love, show your pain. To suffer is as human as to breathe._
> 
> \- Albus Dumbledore, ‘Harry Potter and the Cursed Child’, Part 2, Act Four, Scene Four.

* * *

Saturday, 29 July 1899

Yesterday, I set out to regain a routine of sorts, the kind my life had fallen into in the first weeks after my mother’s death: housework in the morning, reading and study for profit in the afternoon, reading and study for pleasure in the evening.

Still, my mind kept drifting to Gellert and what he had said to me.

_We must come to our senses. It would be our destruction. We can’t do this._

What I knew I couldn’t do was dwell on his words.

And so the day went by slowly, but with greater ease than the day before, or the day before that.

I began today in much the same way, setting the cleaning charms to work on the house after breakfast and attempting to summit the perpetual mountain of laundry which seemed to grow ever before my eyes. I was hanging the bedsheets along the washing line in the garden when a familiar silhouette appeared, lit by sunlight behind a floral screen.

I sighed, resignation that I would need to face him at some point, “Hello, Gellert.”

He peered around the bedsheet, his face a little wary, a little sheepish perhaps as he brought himself into my full view. “Albus… I…” he started, then paused.

I continued to peg the linens to the line, determined not to rush to him. I thought keeping my hands busy might make the temptation to touch him a little easier to bear.

It did not.

“I’m sorry for how I came to you that morning,” he continued, his voice contrite. “I asked for time to think, which you gave me. But instead of taking your gift and using it well, I burdened you with my barely-formed thoughts and fears. I think…” his voice broke now, “I saw Aberforth in the village this morning and we… that is, he… I think I must have hurt you very badly.”

I could feel the tears welling in my eyes again as I kept my gaze firmly on the laundry and away from him. I found I could not lie to him.

“You did,” I replied softly. “More than you know.”

“I am truly sorry.”

“Have you changed your mind on then, on… our matter?”

“I am still unsure of my mind in that regard,” Gellert responded, taking a clothespin from the basket to secure the other end of the sheet I was hanging. “But I am certain that I do not want to spend another day apart from you. Can we set our feelings aside, just for now, and go back to being the closest of friends?”

My insides did a strange somersault and I looked back to him. I did not want to only be ‘the closest of friends’. I did not want to divorce the idea of Gellert the future leader of the wizarding world, with an intellect to rival my own, from that of Gellert the handsome young man, with whom I had fallen so irrevocably in love.

However, the thought that I could have him again, by my side, in even that pale shadow of the Gellert I truly wanted, was a balm to a wounded soul. After all, I had told him on that fateful evening that I would be his however he needed me. This was, indeed, a sacrifice I was willing to make.

And so, with a voice I barely recognised as my own, I replied, “Yes, of course. The closest of friends.”

The smile he gave me in return was bright enough, warm enough, to shatter through the ice that had encased my heart since that awful day.

I’d like to say that from that moment, everything returned to precisely the way it had been before our trip to Peverell’s Hill – before star gazing, before bridge building, before bed sharing, before stolen kisses – but it did not. Our intimacy has suffered tremendously. As we spent the afternoon in contemplation of the uses of the dragon’s blood, all the casual touches to which I had grown accustomed were conspicuously absent.

When he left at sunset, I couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if I’d just held back that night by the gate. If I’d just had a little more self-restraint, a little more foresight.

Of course, foresight is Gellert’s _forte._

A.

* * *

Sunday, 30 July 1899

For the first time as just a trio, my family enjoyed a Sunday lunch together today. It was an unusual confluence of Ariana in a good mood, Aberforth both bathed and actually indoors, and myself without a quill or book in hand. Our meal was not particularly refined – just cold cuts, salad and fresh bread – but I found myself enjoying the company of my siblings. It was almost the same as that forgotten, carefree way we used to get along before our mother’s death.

I listened with genuine pleasure as they described the morning’s adventures in feeding the goats, Aberforth’s gruff retelling interspersed with Ariana’s excited commentary. In turn, they had questions about my trip to Peverell’s Hill which I answered happily, though I kept certain details to myself. We chatted about Aberforth’s subjects for the new school year – Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology and Charms in particular – and Ariana’s preference to study more history with Professor Bagshot once the summer was over.

Eventually, the topic came to my conspicuous ‘illness’ and ‘recovery’ over the past few days and I assured my siblings that whatever had afflicted me – as if I did not know what it was – had passed.

“I saw your friend Grindelwald in the village yesterday,” Aberforth said, his eyes narrowed at me. “He looked a bit off-colour too, when he asked after you. Seems like he had whatever you did. Funny none of us caught it too.”

It was then that I remembered something that Gellert had said yesterday at the washing-line, about their meeting in the village. I realised that perhaps Aberforth had guessed at least something of what had passed between us. I wondered just what role he had in our reunion, just how thankful I should be towards him.

“Well, I’m pleased that Gellert is well and back again,” Ariana smiled. “You are so much happier when he is here Albus, and he’s quite fun to have around.”

“Don’t go getting too attached, Ariana,” Aberforth cautioned, his eyes still trained on me, as if he was giving me the same warning, “you know what the Professor told us when she was here. He’s only here for the summer. Most likely he’ll have to go back to school in September or something.”

“Back to school?” I laughed. “He was expelled, Durmstrang won’t have him back. Besides, he’s never said a word about leaving…” I trailed off. I hadn’t considered that Gellert might leave me here in Godric’s Hollow, but why on earth would he stay? After all, I wouldn’t, given the choice.

Aberforth huffed and shrugged his shoulders, “Just what the Professor said. Maybe you should ask him, I assume he’ll be darkening our doorstep again before long.”

In the end, I completely forgot to raise the topic with Gellert when he joined us, arriving just in time for tea and cake. Ariana and I were soon distracted by his update on the quest for the Hallows, while Aberforth, uncharacteristically polite, excused himself.

Gellert told us that the clues he had found relating to Ignotus Peverell’s family line had disappointingly gone cold and that he had since failed to find anything further to lead us to the Invisibility Cloak. He concluded that it was likely secreted in a family who no longer understood the value of their strange heirloom.

Ariana’s disappointment was palpable, her abnormal magic fizzling like static before a storm as she left us in the parlour, rattling the teapot and cups at the table, shaking the panes of the windows.

“I should go to her,” I apologised to Gellert. “She’s a danger when she gets like this.”

“No, it is my fault,” he shook his head, “I should have told you alone, so we could have kept her fantasy alive. Go to Ariana, our work can wait until tomorrow.”

He reached across the table and squeezed my hand, like he had done so many times before, and I felt our own strange magic again pulse between us, as though unspoken words passed through that touch: _I love you. Forgive me_. It was with a heavy heart that I let go and went to soothe my sister.

I spent the rest of the day back in the front room, working on the plans for my experiments with the dragon’s blood, while Ariana once again made her emotion manifest in her sketch book.

A.

* * *

Monday, 31 July 1899

Gellert sent an owl last night with all of his notes on the Peverell family line. I spent hours by candlelight, poring over his handwriting and drawings, trying to find anything that he might have missed, any small clue. Sadly, I have to agree that there is no more in those notes that could possibly help our search. I told him so this morning, when I went to retrieve a book for Ariana from Professor Bagshot’s library.

I was actually a little surprised to see him up and about already so early in the day; Gellert not being a morning person, I had expected to bring his files across later in the day. But when I arrived, there he was, sitting at the table in the Professor’s kitchen, still his pyjamas, his hair mussed and his eyes sunken, as though he hadn’t slept in days.

“I haven’t. Not really,” he told me, his head drooping into his coffee cup as I sat beside him and poured some for myself out of habit, rather than interest in the drink. “Between our… quarrel… and my visions, this has been a difficult week for sleep.”

“Your visions, why? Is that normal?” I asked, a little alarmed. He had certainly told me before about how vivid The Sight could be, how real what he had Seen could feel, but never had Gellert suggested that his visions kept him up at night.

“Nothing to worry about, it’s nothing new,” he assured me. “It’s one in particular that has been coming to me for quite some time now, but it’s been most persistent this week.”

“Do you want tell me about it?”

Gellert sighed and took a sip of his coffee. “It’s difficult. There are no images that come to mind in this premonition, only a dark, swirling mass which clouds out any light. It’s a feeling more than anything, a mix of desperation and hope, of love and power and unity… and then, all at once, it’s replaced by anger, betrayal, then a terrible, terrible loss.” I watched as Gellert grew more pale, more scared as he spoke. His voice, however, was detached and distant, as if he was recounting something he had read rather than something he had Seen. “It came to me for the first time, when we crossed that bridge.”

“I remember.” It all made sense now. “You had such a strange look on your face and turned from me so suddenly, I thought I’d said or done something to upset you.”

“You think far too highly of yourself sometimes, Albus,” Gellert smiled through an impressive yawn, then rested his head on my shoulder. “Not everything I do is because of you.”

I chuckled and put an arm around him – it seemed that we were now back to touching each other again – but resisted the urge to press a kiss to the blond mop of hair tickling my neck and chin. “You should go back to bed.”

“Not schleepy…” he mumbled into my chest, his accent thick. I let him rest there a little while, until Professor Bagshot came in with Ariana’s book, shooing Gellert upstairs and me back to my siblings.

I was pleased when Gellert appeared in my own kitchen later in the afternoon, looking far more rested than he had this morning.

“I was thinking about your dragon’s blood experiments,” he said by way of greeting, dropping a large pile of books onto the table in front of me, causing a pile of potato peelings to bounce to the floor. “You told me once that you wished to test whether or not dragon’s blood could be used in place of human’s.”

“Yes,” I responded, clearing away the mess he had made. “What have you in mind?”

“I’m not sure yet, but I think perhaps Dark Magic is the place to look. Nothing too Dark, but that’s where most blood magic tends to stray. I brought us some resources,” he gestured to the pile of books, then placed a striped paper bag on top which I recognised from the sweets shop in the village, “and something to sweeten the task.”

After dinner, Gellert and I ended up spending hours searching for the perfect experiment. Gellert turned his nose up at _Magicke Moste Evile_ (“If that’s English, I no longer profess to be fluent!”) and instead started to combed through several other volumes for reference to blood magic, while I transcribed a series of recommendations for the intensification of counter-curses through blood sacrifice.

Standing up on his way to make a third pot of tea, he looked over my shoulder and cried out “Eureka!” so suddenly that he caused me to jump out of my seat in shock, before placing his hands on my shoulders, as though to settle me back in place, and pressing his chest against my back as he continued to read.

I turned my head towards him, a little unnerved by his closeness and hoping that my face was not as red as it felt. “What is it?”

“I believe I have an idea for this counter-curse thing,” Gellert leaned over me now to pick up my notes, one hand still firm on my shoulder. “My aunt is away in meetings with her publisher during the afternoons this week. Come across tomorrow, I have an idea for a more practical application.”

I wonder what he has in store for us?

A.

* * *

Tuesday, 1 August 1899

An empty house has proven the most stimulating environment for our experiment.

Following rigorous testing, Gellert and I have concluded that that the application of a small amount of dragon’s blood to the tip of the wand amplifies the efficacy of the counter-curses to all standard spells approved under International Duelling Standards.

(We have also thoroughly tested the strength of various reparatory spells in the returning of the house to its natural, undisturbed state.)

I will never understand those who believe the pursuit of knowledge to be a dull pastime.

A.

* * *

Wednesday, 2 August 1899

~~If I thought before now that I knew all there was to know of fear and of love, I was horribly mistaken.~~ ~~Today, I tortured~~

Today, in the pursuit of greatness, my dearest friend made what seemed to be a simple suggestion: if dragon’s blood can intensify a counter-curse, why not try it against one of the worst curses in existence? How could I have known, as he asked me this simple question, that the answer would change everything between us?

As it had yesterday, our afternoon began with a short series of curses countered with dragon’s-blood-tipped wands, each curse and counter-curse recorded for our experiment. Each curse all the more evidence to suggest that this kind of blood magic is not picky about the blood it uses, that it need not be that of the attacker, nor the victim, nor human at all.

Where yesterday’s spells had been hexes and jinxes for the most part, today we started to try some Darker spells. Spells that could maim, that could destroy. But neither of us was scared, for we trusted in each other so completely. And it was with this trust in mind, I am sure, that Gellert made his simple request: “We should try one of the Unforgivables. Albus, I want you to use the Cruciatus against me.”

“The Cruciatus? Are you sure?”

We were standing in his giant bedroom, the furniture pushed to the walls, the floor between us a duelling ground scarred with burns and gashes which we would need to repair before the Professor returned home.

“We need to test something bigger. It needs to be something we can really feel, something that can prove absolutely that this blood trick works.”

I frowned. “But there’s no counter-curse.”

“Then we test deflection using Shielding Charms,” he replied, matter-of-factly. “It’s a curse like any other. We’ve discussed this before, the name Unforgivable is a moral judgement, not necessarily one of power.”

It was better than nothing. Still, I was a little unsure as I cast “ _Crucio!_ ” for the first time in my life. He deflected me easily. Too easily.

“No, no, no,” Gellert shook his head, “You need to mean it. How can we test a better deflection spell if I barely need to raise my wand in defence?” He lifted his chin a little higher, a little prouder as he raised his wand again. “Come on Albus, I know you can hurt me.”

I tried again, this time drawing on that small jealousy I had for his freedom, that bitterness I felt for my situation when compared to his, “ _Crucio!_ ”

Gellert deflected me again, but with less ease this time. “Better. Better.” He smiled a strange, wild smile as he took out the vial of blood and dipped his wand. “Now try again.”

“ _Crucio!_ ”

This time he barely waved his wand and the curse glanced off him, such was the power of the dragon’s blood. He seemed almost disappointed. Then, after a moment of silence, he spoke.

“I want to try something different. _Obscuro._ ” I watched as Gellert conjured a black, silken blindfold from the tip of his wand, covering his eyes. He tested the knot at the back of his head and, seemlingly satisfied, once again raised the blood-tipped wand. “Curse me now.”

“But you can’t see!”

“Precisely. You are at every advantage against me. But I move quickly, so I have no doubt I can block you again.”

“If you are sure…”

“Absolutely. I trust you.”

Gellert trusted me. And in return, I summoned all of the anger I felt when he rejected my advances, all of the pain he had made me feel on that awful morning. “ _Crucio!_ ”

But he didn’t block me fast enough. He did not scream, but I watched him fall to the floor, his body twitching strangely until, in shock, I lifted the curse and rushed to kneel by his side.

I was scared to touch him, scared that I would injure him further. “Gellert… speak to me… are you alright?”

He turned to the direction of my voice, his eyes still obscured by the blindfold. When he spoke, it was as though he had just run a great distance. “Don’t worry. I blocked it well enough. I had all of the seizing in my muscles, but no pain. I think it worked!”

“Well, I’m not using a death curse to see what happens next,” I laughed, relief flooding through me. “I think that’s enough data for the moment.”

Gellert laughed back and waved his wand at the blindfold, “ _Finite!_ ” But nothing happened. “ _Abduco_ … _Amolior_ … _Diffindo_!”

The last spell he tried, there was an awful smell of searing flesh and his wand flew from his hand, landing across the room. I ran to pick it up.

“Albus?” I could hear the panic rise in Gellert’s voice. “It hurts. Albus, something is wrong.”

I turned back and watched, dumbstruck, my heart in my throat as he tried to remove the blindfold by hand once, twice, a third time… and still nothing. He whined and I surged across the room, terrified as I pressed his wand back into his shaking hand.

“ _Finite_ ,” he tried again, his voice wavering. Nothing happened. “ _Finite_.” He turned his covered face to me, pleading, “Albus… my magic… there’s something… get it off… get it off…”

“ _Finite_!” I pointed my own wand to the blindfold and, finally, blessedly, the spell worked.

Gellert let out sound of relief as the blindfold fell from his eyes, but a gasp escaped my own mouth… for his eyes, which were brimming with tears, were no longer the deep blue I knew. One was a deep, rich brown, the other, ghostly pale and rimmed in dark.

“Oh Gellert, your eyes,” I whispered, bringing a hand up to his face, running wiping the tears from his cheek, “What have I done to you?”

“Nothing that I didn’t ask of you,” he replied, his voice stronger now.

And before I could think, before I could move, he pressed a tender kiss to my lips. Then another, this one bolder than the last, seeking, searching. Then another, his hands gripping to my shirt, pulling me impossibly close.

Another, as he guided me down, covering my body with his own.

Another, as he met each of my movements in perfect counterbalance.

Another. Another. Another.

It was only much later, when we came up for air, rumpled and spent, that he asked me what had happened to his eyes.

A.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's lyrical title is from ["I Was An Island" by Allison Weiss.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=03cZxS70iLk)
> 
> I've updated the chapter count, I think we still have another 3 proper chapters ahead of us, plus an epilogue, before our adventure together comes to an end.
> 
> I love you all, thank you for your support and comments. xx


	11. There's something I love about these intimate wars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus is confronted by Professor Bagshot about the experimental duel gone wrong, and Albus and Gellert lose themselves in the excitement of their new romance.

 

> _‘Yes, even after they’d spent all day in discussion – both such brilliant young boys, they got on like a cauldron on fire – I’d sometimes hear an owl tapping at Gellert’s bedroom window, delivering a letter from Albus! An idea would have struck him, and he had to let Gellert know immediately!'_
> 
> \- Bathilda Bagshot, reported by Rita Skeeter in 'The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore'

* * *

Thursday, 3 August 1899

The sun had not yet risen when I woke this morning, my whole body still buzzing with the rapturous excitement which has overtaken me since Gellert and I gave effect to our affections yesterday.

Try as I did to get back to sleep, my mind (among other parts) was overstimulated with recollections of that moment of pleasure we had shared together after our experimental duel.

Oh, that wonderful, disastrous experiment. That stupid, dangerous experiment which damaged Gellert so obviously that it occasioned a visit from Professor Bagshot before she left for London today.

After some time, when it became clear that sleep would continue to evade me and when I could stand being alone in my room no longer, I pulled on my dressing gown and crept downstairs to the kitchen. There is something I love about our kitchen in the early morning, the sun filtering from the east through the old, yellowed glass of the high window above the stove, the only sound the birds outside, singing to greet the dawn.

I had lit my wand and several candles, and was fussing with the kettle when I heard a knock at the back door. I glanced at the clock on the mantle, which read a little before 6:30am, and wondered who it could be.

“Albus Dumbledore, let me in,” came Professor Bagshot’s voice, harsher than I was used to from her, “I can see the wandlight. I know you’re in there.”

I opened the door quickly, fumbling the latch as I did so, worried that something was wrong. “Professor, is something the matter?”

The professor was standing at the doorstep, wearing her finest town robes, clearly prepared for another day at her publishers. With a determined expression on her face, a wild look in her eye, and her unruly grey-blonde curls loose from their usual bun, I could see the small resemblance between her and Gellert. A heavy book bag was draped over one shoulder and she was holding a large black umbrella, which she aimed at me menacingly.

“Is something the matter?” she echoed, brandishing the umbrella at my chest, her voice an exaggerated whisper, “Why don’t you tell me, since I gather you had a hand in the disfigurement of my great-nephew?”

“I... that is…” I quaked, speechless, suddenly remembering the lasting effect of yesterday’s adventures. In the haze of romance that had clouded my mind since I woke, I had forgotten the very real consequences of our actions. The extraordinary effect of the deflected Cruciatus curse on Gellert’s magic, the backfiring repelling and severing charms. His eyes, changed from deep blue to those peculiar opposites of dark and light. “I…”

Bringing the umbrella back to her side, the professor drew herself up to full height and, I think for the first time in all the years I had known her, I was somewhat intimidated by her presence, though she was easily two heads shorter than me.

“I will say this once and once only. I _never_ want to hear of you and Gellert duelling each other _ever_ again.”

I didn’t try to deny it, there seemed to be little point in doing so. “How did you know?”

The professor smiled wryly. “Guilt was as plain on his face as his new eye colours at dinner last night. He told me that he was weakened and a charm misfired, that you had been there to help. Between that and the burns and gashes on the doorframe, I pieced it together quickly enough.”

 _The doorframe!_ I thought, groaning aloud. I knew we must have missed something. Still, she had only guessed at our duelling - I figured the true, Dark nature of the magic we had been using remained a mystery to her. I hoped to keep it that way.

“A severing charm to the face,” she tutted. “He’s lucky he didn’t lose his eyesight. I thought the two of you were smarter than that.”

The kettle began to whistle loudly, cutting off any reply I thought to make to her comment, and I raced to take it from the stove before the noise woke the household.

“Can I offer you some tea?” I asked, out of politeness more than anything, as I poured boiling water into the old, floral ceramic teapot.

“Thank you,” she replied, dropping her bag at the doorstep and resting the umbrella against the wall, her whole demeanour calmer now, more friendly, “I’m not due with my publisher for a few hours yet. I was going to take a leisurely walk to the village to collect my thoughts before I apparate to London, but tea before I go would be heavenly.”

We sat at the kitchen table, me in my usual chair, the professor in the one favoured most often by Aberforth, and we discussed the progress on the history of magic she is currently trying to produce. As I poured the tea, she told me of the frustrations she has been facing in editing the large amount of content down to a sensible, marketable size.

“Gellert was looking over a few chapters for me earlier this week and he suggested that I produce a separate volume on the history of divination and oracles. It is rather his area of expertise, so I thought him biased, but after yesterday’s to-ing and fro-ing with my editor, I’m inclined to agree.” She smiled fondly, her eyes filled with a distant, nostalgic look. “My great-nephew was always a clever child, wise beyond his years. Perhaps it’s a benefit of the Sight. He has grown into such an intelligent young man… but he is still very young.”

The professor paused now, looking at me carefully once again. I shrank back a little in my chair under the intensity of her gaze.

“I don’t want you to forget that, Albus. I appreciate that you _are_ both of age, but Gellert is barely seventeen. His father has great plans for him, plans that require a proper education and a modicum of sensibility which he has proven in the past to be lacking.”

 “I don’t take your meaning,” I looked at her curiously and wondered briefly if she had guessed at more than the duel, if she was warning me off getting closer to Gellert, but it didn’t seem as if she was.  

“Herr Wenzel Grindelwald expects his son to continue in the family trade: international magical diplomacy. Years of language lessons, etiquette, politics, summers spent travelling to the homes of the most powerful magical families of Europe,” Professor Bagshot sighed deeply, “You see, Gellert’s expulsion from Durmstrang was more than an inconvenience, it was an embarrassment to his family’s reputation. His father very nearly disowned him.”

“I didn’t know. He never said,” I looked down at the teacup in my hands, watching a few stray leaves swirl with the heat of the water, the steam warming my face. I felt equal parts empathy for his plight and disappointment that he had not shared his part of himself with me. “I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been for him.”

Professor Bagshot made a noise, halfway to a laugh, and I looked up at her confused. Had I missed something? It didn’t seem like a story to laugh about. “You know, Gellert wore almost precisely the same expression when I told him about _your_ family circumstances when he arrived last month. The two of you really are remarkably similar, you feel everything so keenly.”

“What do you mean?” I bristled a little at her comment.

She laughed properly now, a full throaty laugh that only served to confuse me further.  “Don’t think I haven’t seen this stupid disagreement between the two of you over the past week. Let me guess… you’ve been moping too, storming about your room in high dudgeon? Refusing food? Crying when you think no one is listening?”

I felt my myself colouring with embarrassment and drank deeply from my cup in an attempt to hide it.

“I thought so,” she smirked. “Like I said, remarkably similar. Whatever it was, I’m pleased that the two of you have settled your difference in opinion.”

“As am I,” I responded carefully. I didn’t care to share with her just what the resolution of the disagreement had resulted in. “I had rather missed his company.”

“And he certainly missed yours. I think this friendship has been good for the both of you.” Her tea now finished, the professor stood from the table and moved to retrieve her bag and umbrella at the doorway. As she was partway out the door, she turned to me, another laugh escaping as though she had just recalled a particularly funny joke, “And to think, coming to Godric’s Hollow was intended to be a punishment for Gellert! A backwater where he couldn’t get into any mischief!”

As I watched the professor walk down the path to the hedge-gate, then along the stream towards the village, I was reminded that that was how _I_ had thought of our village before Gellert’s arrival. A punishment. A backwater. But now, I think Godric’s Hollow will always be a very special place to me.

I should put my quill down - it’s nearly 10am and both Aberforth and Ariana have come and gone from the kitchen for their own tea and breakfast already. The day awaits…

I wonder if Gellert is still abed across the way?

Perhaps I should go over and join him.

Perhaps the day can _await_ a little longer.

A.

* * *

Friday, 4 August 1899

. . .

* * *

Saturday, 5 August 1899

I’d like to say that I have a good reason for missing an entire day in my journal – the first day I haven’t even attempted to write anything in this little book in over a month! – something like a grand discovery, an epic adventure, a mysterious illness.

The real reason has been all of these things at once and none of them at all – Gellert.

Two glorious, blissful days, hiding from the world until our responsibilities tore us away from each other.

Two marvellous, frantic nights filled with endless streams of letters sent from window to window, until no light remained in either house except our twin candles, the signal that we were once again safe to return to each other, resuming our tryst in a warded, silenced room until, at dawn, we retreated once again.

Our romance is our most precious secret.

In a way, it _has_ been a grand discovery. A discovery of the sounds which he makes as I press my lips to the hollow of his neck or brush them against the inside of his thigh. The feel of his skin against mine, heated by passion, then cooled by sweat. The strength in his embrace, how I can feel so fragile and yet so safe his arms.

And an epic adventure. I have explored the plains and ridges of his chest, the curve of his backside. I have mapped the faded duelling scars on his hands and arms, the faint freckles on his shoulders, the places where the soft blonde hair on his body grows darker, coarser, a trail to hidden places.

And like a mysterious illness, I know not what has come over me. The need to have him close... closer… closer still. How my every thought is filled with him when we are apart.

But this is no mystery – I know that I am afflicted with the deepest, most intense love for Gellert.

Love.

The most powerful magic of all, Gellert called it on that awful morning when he had pushed me away, confused and afraid.

It is an affliction which I no longer doubt that he shares, not when he touches me as he does, when he gazes upon me with desire so strong, even when we are not alone, that it takes all of my self-control not to go to him right away and worship at the altar of his body.

And despite the change in their colour, there has been no change in the intensity of expression from Gellert’s eyes; as they have since the day we met, they seem to pierce my very soul, sending me weak at the knees, filling my heart with joy.

Between those breathless, heady moments, when our passion has peaked and ebbed again, we have developed a new kind of intimacy, a new comfort with each other. Always happy to spend hours of our companionship reading aloud, making speeches, posing debates, we now lay with our limbs entwined as we read, or else a speech is interrupted by lips and tongue and fingers to the point of distraction, and debates are held in a state of undress.  
  
(I have learned, too, that it is incredibly difficult to make a convincing rebuttal when one’s debating partner is flushed with arousal and wearing no more than a bedsheet.)

Now when we talk of revolution, when Gellert describes how the two of us will lead wizardkind into the light, how we will help raise our people to their rightful place, it no longer feels abstract.

Now, as we debate late into the night in my tiny attic room, I can imagine us in a great amphitheatre, making our call to arms, our cause secretly made stronger by our closeness, the two of us bound as much by our love as our conviction for the greater good.

The day I met Gellert, I wrote that my whole body was on edge, that I felt as though my soul was on fire. How little I knew then, how little I knew just what those feelings meant, what they would become.

He has changed me forever.

A.

* * *

 

> _Gellert –_
> 
> _Your point about Wizard dominance being FOR THE MUGGLES' OWN GOOD - this, I think, is the crucial point. Yes, we have been given power and yes, that power gives us the right to rule, but it also gives us responsibilities over the ruled. We must stress this point, it will be the foundation stone upon which we build. Where we are opposed, as we surely will be, this must be the basis of all our counterarguments. We seize control FOR THE GREATER GOOD. And from this it follows that where we meet resistance, we must use only the force that is necessary and no more. (This was your mistake at Durmstrang! But I do not complain, because if you had not been expelled, we would never have met.)_
> 
> _Albus_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! A romantic update (with a little plot at the start) is my special gift to you all, a thank you for all your kind words of encouragement and support over the past few months. I can't believe how close we are getting to the end now!
> 
> This chapter's title comes from ["Claws" by Megan Washington](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mexPH0Pw9P0). I could have used so many of the lyrics from this song for this chapter and it was in part what inspired the duel in the last chapter as well.


	12. Just our hands clasped so tight, waiting for the hint of a spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the future begins to unfold before them, Albus and Gellert make their pact

> _No man or woman alive,_ _magical or not, has ever escaped some form of injury, whether physical, mental or emotional. To hurt is as human as to breathe. Nevertheless, we wizards seem particularly prone to the idea that we can bend the nature of existence to our will._
> 
> \- Albus Dumbledore on “The Warlock’s Hairy Heart” from Tales of Beedle the Bard

 

* * *

 

Sunday, 6 August 1899

It has been difficult to find the time to spend with Gellert this weekend, which has frustrated me exceedingly.

It seems that Professor Bagshot has an endless list of tasks she requires Gellert to complete. As soon as he is done with one, suddenly I find myself trapped looking after an over-tired, dangerous Ariana, or else caught up with cooking or cleaning, and by the time I am free, he is once again needed by the professor.

We have been lucky to steal any more than a few minutes together at a time, meeting at the hedge-gate between our responsibilities, finding excuses to go to each other’s houses to borrow a cup of sugar, a needle and thread, a book, lingering as long as we dared.

Still, we have convinced Professor Bagshot that tonight’s new moon will offer an exceptional opportunity for astronomy that is well worth Gellert’s staying out with me all night. For educational purposes.

I am very much looking forward to, in fact, staying _in_ all night.

A.

* * *

Monday, 7 August 1899

It was glorious to wake in Gellert’s arms this morning, something that I have not had occasion to do since our adventure to Peverell’s Hill, before we either of us could comprehend the significance of the magic we felt between us.

Knowing that I usually stir hours before Gellert, I reached carefully to the bedside table to pick up a book to occupy my mind, but was surprised to find his hand dart out and pull my arm back towards him possessively. I rolled over to see his eyes open, pupils blown wide with lust, drinking me in as though I was the most exquisite nectar. I found myself blushing under the intensity of the gaze, moreso as he closed the gap between us and kissed my mouth, my jaw, my neck, my collarbone… down… down…

We savoured every moment we could, drawing out our pleasure in languid, unhurried touches in the early morning light. And then, once the zenith was reached, we lay there, heated skin pressed against heated skin, catching our breath, until at long last, reluctantly, we pulled away from each other and dressed to meet the day.

I could hear tell-tale sounds of a household awake as we emerged from my room to find breakfast, my sister humming merrily from the front room and the distinct creak of my brother’s bedroom door on the floor below opening as we walked down the stairs. Aberforth stopped me on the first landing, a warning hand on my arm while Gellert bounded down to join Ariana.

“I know what the two of you are up to,” he said in a low, accusatory tone.

My mind immediately raced to what Gellert and I had been ‘up to’ only a few minutes before. I felt my cheeks grow warm and my voice was an octave higher than usual when I squeaked out, “You do?”

Aberforth turned a shade of red similar to what my own face must have been and groaned with embarrassment.

“Not _that_ ,” he grumbled, not meeting my eye. “I don’t care about _that_. Well, I don’t approve of _him_ , but _that_ ’s your business, so long as you keep it quiet.”

I cleared my throat awkwardly. “Then what do you mean?”

“The blood magic,” Aberforth produced a small book from behind his back, one I recognised that I had been reading in the kitchen a few days earlier, now looking at me again. “This is Dark stuff, Albus. It’s what messed with Grindelwald’s eyes, right?”

“What of it? It’s experimental magic, things can and will go wrong.” I countered, peeved that he would dare to question my work. “But that was an accident and it won’t happen again.”

Aberforth glowered at me. “It had better not. Certainly not around our sister. I-” he broke off, as the sound of Ariana and Gellert’s laugher erupted from the front room, “I just want to make sure that she’s safe.”

His words struck me. “Abe, I promise you that I will do nothing to hurt our sister.”

A squeal, then a cry, then another peal of laughter sounded from downstairs.

“You should go down and make sure _he_ does nothing to hurt her either,” Aberforth thrust the book he was holding into my chest, then turned and stormed back to his room.

I continued down the stairs and was greeted by a scene of chaos when I entered the front room. Ariana was hastily covering her canvas with a sheet while Gellert, the picture of innocence if not for his trousers covered in paint, knelt to clear away a palette which was upended on the rug, having clearly fallen from the chair it (and he) must have sat upon. A bright, blue streak of paint graced the wall and curtains.

“Ariana Kendra Aurelia Margaret Dumbledore, what by Merlin have you done?” I sighed, my arms folded across my chest in disapproval, but all my seriousness melted as Gellert began to laugh heartily.

“I had no idea,” he choked out between wheezing laughter, dropping the palette he had just picked up, “that you _all_ have such ridiculously long names. I thought Albus was joking when I saw his name in the newspaper. What are Aberforth’s middle names then? Horatio Forsyth John? Cornelius Juvenal Robert?”

I ignored his teasing and walked over to Ariana and her easel. “What are you hiding?”

“I’m working on your birthday present, don’t look!” Ariana placed herself between me and the covered canvas dramatically.

“I won't, you have my word. But if my birthday present is needing to replace all the wallpaper, I don’t think want it,” I replied with a grin, fishing my wand out from my sleeve and pointing at the mess on the wall beside her, “ _Scourify!_ ”

When I was done, I turned to look at Gellert behind me, paint-splattered and still crying with laughter, almost manic, as he knelt on the floor. He was sitting up on his heels, his open hands facing up towards the ceiling after he had dropped the palette; the blue paint oozed over his wrists and palms now in such a way that, had it been red, it would have called to mind fatal wounds. It was a strange, bewitching sight.

Ariana followed my gaze then, grabbing her sketch pad and pencil, leaned up and whispered conspiratorially in my ear, “Gellert is a very beautiful boy, Albus. I can see why you like him so much.”

I wondered then if Ariana knew too, in her own way, about Gellert and I, though she gave no other hint the rest of the morning as she sketched. Gellert and I cleaned the paint away, then returned to our studies on the lounge, and I was careful to keep a small distance from him, no matter how close I wanted to be, lest Ariana say anything more.

Still, it seems that perhaps nothing is so secret in my house after all.

A.

* * *

Tuesday, 8 August 1899

Aberforth's goats are making a nuisance of themselves. I found them this afternoon loose from their pen, and chewing their way through the flowerbeds next to the kitchen – flowers, stems, roots, and support stakes all!

Aberforth didn't even seem the tiniest bit sorry, not until Ariana saw the carnage wrought upon our mother's prize lilies, which sent her into a fit of tears. Then, rather than apologise, he immediately took on that kind of gruff frustration he tends to show at times such as these, trying to pin the blame on me for calling him in for dinner too early last night, suggesting that somehow I was responsible for him forgetting to close the gate.

But I have had enough of his self-righteous attitude this summer. It's too much to have to manage; as if it is not enough that I keep him and our sister fed, clothed, kept… no, I have to be responsible for the very responsibility he insisted upon taking without my consultation too! Those damned goats!

Rather than fight with him – I had no interest in an argument, I was too tired and frustrated for that – I stormed out of the house, down the path to the hedgerow and through the gate to the professor's backyard.

I was a little startled to find Gellert, not in his room or the library as I had expected, but lying against the large oak tree in the garden, writing in his leather notebook, which was looking more worn than before. I walked over and collapsed next to him, wrapping my arms around him and burying my face against his chest. I could smell that distinct scent of him – magic, sweat and lavender laundry soap – as he stroked my hair, and all at once my frustration and anger melted away.

"What's the matter, my darling?”

"Everything," I mumbled into his shirt, though the thrill that had coursed through me at being called ‘darling’ reminded me that not _everything_ was wrong. "I just wish I could get away from this place for good."

"One day, I promise, you will."

I pulled back from our embrace and leaned against the tree with him, taking his hand in mine and lacing our fingers together. "I know, it's just that that day seems so far away. It’s days like this that I wish I were still back at Hogwarts, surrounded by ancient stone walls and books and so much knowledge. I was in my element! When I was there, I felt invincible… untouchable…” I sighed heavily. “Here, at home, I feel like such a failure."

“You don’t need to tell me about being a failure at home,” Gellert chuckled a little darkly.

“I didn’t mean-” I began, remembering his own troubles with family, but he silenced me with quick kiss.

“Hush, Albus. I know you didn’t mean anything by it,” he stroked a hand down the side of my face with such great tenderness. “I don’t think you’ve ever had a cruel intention about you in your life.” There was a pride to his voice here but still, something about his tone made him sound almost disappointed.

Gellert shifted a little next to me then, picking up his notebook and turning to the page he had been writing in when I sat down. He showed me what he had been writing – no, drawing. It was a sketch of a grand castle, set on the side of a mountain, with a distinctive tall tower at its centre. The picture was immensely detailed, each stone aged and worn, even the trees and flowers were not perfect but appeared to be in various stages of life and growth and death.

“I have been thinking of my own home,” he explained, “my family’s estate at Nurmengard and how much I miss it. It is not a small property, but I like to think that one day, when it becomes mine, I might be able to forge it in image of the grandeur it deserves.”

“This is a very clear image,” I raised my eyebrow, looking now at the windows in the high tower, barred with iron. “Is it from memory?”

“Yes and no. It is from a Vision. Only the lower levels are the current building. The rest, this is what I have Seen it become. The home for my cause. Our cause.”

I looked more closely now, at the high walls around the castle, the gate at its entrance emblazoned with words which I knew to be our motto, in German: _Für das Größere Wohl_.

“I want you there, by my side, when I build this castle. I want it to be your home as much as mine,” Gellert took the notebook back from me and brought my hand to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss against it. He looked up into my eyes with that intense, solemn gaze of his. “I no longer want to imagine a future without you there with me.”

And so, we spent the rest of the afternoon under the oak tree, dreaming of our future together, until the shouts of my brother and sister from the other side of the hedgerow drew me back home, back to my bitter, present reality.

A.

* * *

Wednesday, 9 August 1899

Gellert seemed distressed, almost anxious when I met him by the gate this morning.

We had organised to walk to town together, to visit the apothecary for potions ingredients, and to restock my supply of sweets. I had expected it to be a merry expedition, a short respite from my worries, but as we walked in the summer sunshine, Gellert wore almost the same dismal expression as he had when we had argued the day after our first kiss. I asked him if anything was the matter, but he answered my question with a small shake of his head.

He was so quiet and it filled me with such a sense of foreboding, even as he brushed my hand with his in an affectionate, secretive way while we went about our errands in town.

After our provisions were bought, Gellert suggested that we make a detour to the graveyard, to return to the tomb of Ignotus Peverell. We sat on the grass next to the grave, Gellert tracing the symbol of the Hallows on the headstone with a fingertip. I opened the warm parcel of pumpkin pasties we had bought from the bakery, and passing a bottle of butterbeer between us, we enjoyed an irreverant picnic in honour of the Deathly Hallows and the Three Brothers, and he seemed to brighten for a moment.

But when we were walking back through town again, once we were done, Gellert seemed even more wretched than he had when we set out from home.

I had to say something, anything, to break the silence that had grown between us, “I’m sure we’ll find the Cloak after all. Even if the trail has gone cold now, I’m certain that once we have the Wand and the Stone, the Cloak will find its way to us.”

Gellert turned, blinking, looking at me as though he’d almost forgotten that I was walking with him. “I… I’m sorry… I just…” he looked a little dazed as he suddenly asked, “you won’t leave me, will you?”

I looked at him in surprise, unsure where this had come from. “Of course not.”

“And you wouldn’t fight me?” He implored, his mismatched eyes filled with some emotion I could not recognise.

“Never,” I replied, faithfully.

“Would you swear it?”

I pulled him into the alleyway next to the pub and cast a disillusionment charm before drawing him close to me, bringing my hands to his face, and pressing my forehead to his. I realised then what the expression was in his eyes. Fear. But from where had it come?

“Never doubt my love for you, Gellert. It runs deep. It is true.” I kissed him softly, then pulled back again, cradling his face in my hands. “How could I fight someone who is the whole world to me?”

He kissed me back briefly, but even with a disillusionment charm, we were neither of us quite brave enough to demonstrate our love to any greater degree in that alleyway.

Although Gellert’s mood seemed to improve a little by the time we returned home, he did not stay around to help me with the potions, which is entirely unlike him. He usually wants to goad me, at least, for the way I chop ingredients, even if he has no interest in brewing them.

I do wonder what has come over him.

A.

* * *

Thursday, 10 August

I’ve had another owl from Elphias - he is in Prague and has run into our classmate Hesper Starkey, who is touring with her cousin from Durmstrang. Elphias always carried a torch for Hesper, and reading between the lines of his letter, I suspect he may have also found himself a summer romance. I am pleased for him.

I was partway through writing my response, steadfastly ignoring the other correspondence I was actually due to write this morning, when Gellert arrived with pastries fresh from the professor’s oven. The scent of the fresh bread and sugary jam was heavenly and I found myself immediately distracted by both the pastries and their bearer.

After a stolen kiss or three between cautious glances at the open door, I went to the kitchen to make a fresh pot of tea. When I returned, I saw Gellert peering behind the drop sheet over Ariana’s canvas.

“Not planning to cover yourself and the room in blue paint again, I hope,” I said, pouring a cup for each of us.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Gellert smiled, taking the tea from me and sitting on the lounge. “I just wish I had known sooner that your birthday was coming, I could have planned something very grand for you. I only found out when Ariana told me on Monday.”

“I don’t need grand,” I replied, sitting next to him, tangling my ankle around his.

“Good, because you won’t be getting it,” he said matter-of-factly, “I can only promise you morning tea with my great aunt and your siblings-”

“I already knew about that.”

“-and the rest of the day, well that’s a surprise for Saturday.”

“The rest of the day?” I looked at him sadly. “I’ll be doing what I always do, birthday or no. Looking after my siblings and stealing as much time as I can with you.”

Gellert laughed. “I don’t think so. I couldn’t quite manage the five-day adventure we were granted last time, but my Aunt will look after your siblings long enough that I can make it worth your while,” he looked at me pointedly then, a glint of passion in his eyes, “I assure that you no time will need to be stolen.”

I wonder if I will ever get used to the way he makes me feel, when he looks at me like that. Each time, I feel my stomach curl with heat, my heartbeat speed up, and I feel so wanted, so needed. So loved.

And it certainly makes concentrating on the task at hand very difficult. I regret to say that not a single letter was completed today.

A.

* * *

Friday, 11 August 1899

I dedicated this morning to catching up on those items of correspondence which I entirely failed to complete yesterday.

Gellert is being very secretive about his plans for my birthday, he even came around after dinner to check - in person! - that I still wished to spend the afternoon and evening with him tomorrow, after morning tea with his aunt. As if I have ever missed an opportunity to be alone with him.

I am so curious as to what he has planned. 

A.

* * *

Saturday, 12 August 1899

Blood magic is a powerful, dangerous thing. I know this, in principle. And in practice I’ve seen the effects of it in my experiments, in our duel.

But it is also a beautiful, sacred and solemn thing.

A magic of love. Of dedication. Of commitment.

A magic of binding oaths.

Today, to mark the occasion of my eighteenth birthday, Gellert and I sealed our partnership in blood.

After our morning tea with my siblings and his aunt, after gifts and pleasantries were exchanged, Gellert and I bid farewell to them all and walked and walked. He led me to the very outskirts of town, to a farmstead long since abandoned, its thatched roof bare at points, its garden overgrown and its picket fence falling down. We crept through a gap in the worn white palings and made our way around the back of the house, to a barn up a small hill along the way. He pushed the barn door open and led me inside. It was bare, except for the old bales of hay scattered about and rusted tools hanging from the walls.

“I found this place the other week,” Gellert explained, “when we weren’t… when I was needing some time to think. It has magic about it, but no one has lived here for a long, long time it seems. We are the only people for miles around.”

“Not that it isn’t picturesque,” I started, eyeing off the cobwebs on the rafters, “but apart from the solitude, why are we here?”

I turned to see Gellert looking at me with the kind of look which sends my head spinning and my knees weak.

"The future is an uncertain thing. Even when I can understand what I See, there is so much unknown, so much to fear. But I am not afraid when I know that you are by my side.” He placed a hand on his heart. “I want to give you the most precious gift I can think of, my loyalty to you. I want to swear that I will never hurt you, never move against you, no matter who or what tries to turn us against each other."

"You make it sound like a wedding vow!" I laughed nervously, at once completely moved and entirely overwhelmed by his proclamation. For one thing, the barn hardly seemed the place for it.

"I _do_ want to make a vow to you," he took my hand in his now and looked me directly in the eye, the intensity of his attention closer to what he reserved for his ardent political speeches than his romantic declarations, "and for you to make one in return."

“An Unbreakable Vow, do you mean?”

“Nothing so crude.” He shook his head in disgust. “I have something far more noble in mind, something that befits us and our cause."

Gellert sat with me on the hay and described his idea: a blood pact.

It would be an oath of allegiance and love to each other, a vow that no matter where our lives may lead us, no matter where our cause might go, no matter who might stand between us, neither would never move to harm the other.

It would be like a secret marriage between us, but more sacred than any vow of words and ink between a man and woman, for our love is special and imbued with a magic which no one else can understand. And the bond would be ours and nothing and no one in this world would be able to take it from us.

I did not need to be convinced. As soon as he spoke the words to me, I knew in my heart of hearts that this was what I wanted.

And so, in the dim light of the evening, we stood on that bare floor in that old, abandoned barn, and made our pledge.

“ _Foedus_ ,” we whispered in unison, as we took our wands and sliced our palms, I my left and Gellert his right.

I was trembling with nerves as I reached up and pressed my wound against his. All at once, my eyes shuttered closed as I was overwhelmed by a rush of feeling that felt just like the magic which we had shared at the bridge, during our experimental duel, when we kissed, when we reached the height of passion. Love, yes, but something more, something uniquely Gellert, something uniquely us.

Gellert’s fingers laced into mine and squeezed, and I could not help but let out a gasp as the feeling surged stronger. It was intoxicating, to feel so connected to him in that moment. I felt at peace with the world, that this was where I belonged and always would belong, entwined with him.

After a moment, we released our grip and, forcing my eyes open, I watched, fascinated, as a drop of blood from each of our palms floated into the air, then met. A shimmering sphere, like sunlight, started to form around the blood, then an intricate silver filigree around the sphere, then a stem from either end of the filigree, until a delicate pendant hung in the air between us.

Gellert immediately snatched it from the air, breathing out in amazement, “It worked.”

“It worked,” I echoed, feeling light-headed as I looked at my bloodied palm.

We were both silent then, the weight of the significance of the moment heavy between us, until Gellert said with that familiar teasing way of his, “Perhaps you should look after this, in case anyone asks what I got you for your birthday.”

He conjured a thin silver chain for the pendant and then placed it around my neck, tucking it under my shirt tenderly. “There, now you can wear me on your heart.”

“ _Set me as a seal upon your heart_ ,” I quoted, the words springing to mind. I pressed my hand to my chest, feeling the cool metal under my shirt, before closing the space between us to show my gratitude and love.

I could feel his lips smile against my mouth as he whispered into our kiss, “ _For love is as strong as death_.”

A.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title lyric is from [Death Cab for Cutie's "I Will Follow You Into The Dark"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9FhRQt1vm3A)
> 
> Apologies for the longer-than-usual wait for this chapter - I hope I've made up for it by making it a longer-than-usual chapter!
> 
> Thank you all for your comments on the last chapter - sorry I didn't get a chance to respond to each of you personally this time. In the past two weeks, while I've been trying to get this chapter finished, I've been suffering/enjoying the busiest period in three years at work, I've travelled interstate as part of that very busy work schedule, I've bought a house (!!), and I've completely cleaned and cleared out my study ahead of a rental inspection. I'm exhausted!


	13. To fight the fear of things unseen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the summer draws to an end, Albus and Gellert prepare to make their escape

Sunday, 13 August 1899

I thought that maybe I would feel somehow different today, after making our pact. But even as I woke this morning, once again content in Gellert’s embrace (he having sneakily apparated into my room in the early hours), I could sense little variation in the magic between us except, perhaps, for an increased safety in his arms, a stronger sense that he is mine and that he will not leave me, the cool press of the pendant and its heavy chain against my heart.

My mother once described that everything and nothing changed the day she married my father. I wonder, now, if this is what she meant?

~~(And I wonder, now, if it is bold of me to think of Gellert as though he is my husband?)~~

I realise, in my excitement, that I failed to record the more mundane aspects of my birthday celebrations yesterday. In short, the fruit cake was excellent; the professor gifted me a wonderful self-inking quill, Aberforth a skein of goats-wool for my knitting, and Ariana the most captivating portrait which I have hung above the desk in my room.

It’s a small piece, the canvas not much bigger than a side plate, eerie in its likeness of its subjects against a misty blue backdrop. It depicts Ariana herself, seated in the centre, her shoulder draped with a cloak of invisibility, Gellert standing to her left, the Elder Wand in one hand, and myself to her right, Gellert’s other hand resting on my shoulder, my own outstretched hand holding a stone. The three of us, each with the Hallow we most desire, just as we had imagined.

The thing I like the most about the portrait though is that Gellert helped her with the charm to animate the portrait’s figures, and every now and then, when it seems that no one is watching, the tiny Albus and Gellert share a stolen kiss. It is for this reason that the portrait will _not_ be on public display.

It has, however, confirmed for me that Ariana knows our secret. This, in itself, is somewhat a blessing, as there’s something about the blood magic that has prevented healing spells working as they should, and Gellert and I presently bear matching, angry red marks across our palms, which neither of us can glamour away.

Ariana was quick to point out the marks this morning, and I could have fainted when Gellert replied to her, so pragmatically as he poured her tea, that it was simply a sign of his undying love for me.

A.

* * *

Monday, 14 August 1899

A letter came from Hogwarts today, while the four of us were sitting in the kitchen and enjoying a plate of cauldron cakes which the professor had prepared before she left for London and her publisher again.

The arrival of a letter from Hogwarts is not, in and of itself, a surprising or unusual occurrence in our household.

But this letter was not for me, nor for Aberforth.

Instead, we all watched in surprise as Professor Black’s owl, Euripides, dropped the thick parchment envelope into Gellert’s lap before swooping back out of the kitchen window.

Our silent shock was broken by Aberforth making a crude joke along the lines that the owl couldn’t tell Gellert and I apart because of how much time we spent, well, _together_.

But I barely heard him. I was watching as Gellert tore open the envelope that was indeed addressed to: _Mr. G. Grindelwald, Godric’s Hollow_.

Gellert went oddly pale as he read the enclosed parchment, his eyes moving swiftly across the lines. He sat very calmly for a moment then, without warning, stood up with such force that his chair tipped over and clattered to the floor.

“I need to leave,” he said, his voice thick in a way that suggested he was holding back tears. He kept his face turned from me, instead looking at the upended chair on the flagstones.

I stood up too then, righting the chair and placing a hand on his shoulder, but he brushed me off. “Gellert, what’s—”

“I need to _leave_ ,” Gellert repeated, sadder now, and he pressed the opened letter into my hand. “I can’t…” He trailed off. What he couldn’t do, he didn’t say; he only turned on his heel and walked out into the garden.

The letter was heavy in my hands, that familiar weight of Hogwarts parchment, and I looked down to read the first few lines:

_Dear Mr. Grindelwald,_

_It is my pleasure to offer you a position in Hogwarts’ N.E.W.T. level program, commencing 1 September 1899. You will be invited to join the Sixth Year class, and will be Sorted into a House upon your arrival._

_While I understand that your departure from the Sixth Year class at Durmstrang last year was somewhat indecorous, I have received assurances from your father that you are a bright and studious young man. I trust that Hogwarts will afford you a much needed second-chance to complete your final years of formal education._

“Go to him, Albus,” Ariana begged, startling me from what I was reading.

“But…” I looked around the kitchen, at the dirty dishes, at the laundry waiting to be done.

Aberforth raised an eyebrow and pointed at the opened door, “Go on then, we’ll be right without you for a little while.”

I stepped out into the streaming sunlight, the letter still grasped in my hand, determined to locate Gellert. I traipsed through the gardens, then checked all his usual hiding spots in the Professor’s home, until at long last I found him in his bedroom.

He was sitting cross-legged by his travelling trunk, his things strewn about him as he sobbed into his hands. I sat down next to him and pulled him into my arms, letting him soak my shirt with his tears.

“Shhh,” I soothed, catching his golden curls in my hand and stroking his head softly, “This isn’t the end of the world. What’s two years to wait before you start your revolution?”

Gellert pulled back a little, looking up at me in surprise, his eyes rimmed red and his cheeks flushed, his voice soft and low, “You don’t mean to say you think I should go to Hogwarts?”

“Of course you should, Gellert. It’s perfect, don’t you see?” It hadn’t even occurred to me that he might not want to go; I could only think of how good this would be for us. “Aberforth will graduate at the same time as you, and then he can stay here with Ariana. In two years’ time, I will be free to join you in our movement.”

Gellert shook his head and pushed away from me, standing up from the floor. He picked up a few books from his bed and placed them into the trunk.

“Two years is too long. _Every day_ that wizardkind continues to live in hiding is a day _too long_ ,” he stated passionately, looking down at me, a copy of _Seven Seers And What They Have Seen_ in his hand. “We can’t delay any longer.”

I stayed on the ground, holding the letter up to him, “But Gellert, Professor Black says that your father--“

“Damn my father!” Gellert yelled, throwing the book against the far wall. I flinched when the book’s spine cracked as it connected with the plaster, leaving a dent, and leaves of paper billowed to the ground. “Damn his connections and damn his plans! I won’t go. There is nothing that any school can teach me now, not even your precious Hogwarts.”

“Then what do you plan to do?” I stood up, the letter forgotten, but I did not go to him; he had started pacing in that frantic, nervous way of his. He was agitated, enraged.

“I said it before, I need to leave,” he replied as he looked at me in frustration, as if I was being wilfully ignorant.

Gellert’s gaze hurt me almost as much as his words. “Leave?”

“Before September, I think,” he resumed his pacing more hurriedly then, “Yes, two weeks to prepare should be enough.

“Before September?” I echoed him again, softly, feeling light-headed. “Two weeks?”

Then, all at once, his pacing stopped and he softened again, the tension leaving his body like a spring releasing. He came over and held me in his arms, pressing his lips to my cheek, running one hand through my hair, the other finding our pact under the collar of my shirt.

“You’ll come with me, won’t you, dear Albus?” he crooned in my ear. “All our plans come to fruition, just you and I against the world. For the Greater Good.”

“Yes,” I rasped. The light-headedness I had felt only grew stronger under the spell of his voice. “Yes, of course.”

He kissed me then, with all the passion and tenderness I have come to expect of him, and I was lost to his world of promises and dreams.

It was as I crossed the stream and passed through the gate at the hedgerow, some hours later, that I paused to think of what I had so stupidly agreed to. Oh, the guilt that rushed through me as I watched Ariana at the kitchen window, singing as she washed the dishes, as I saw Aberforth herding his two unruly goats back away from the flowerbeds.

How will I tell Gellert that I can’t possibly leave?

A.

* * *

Tuesday, 15 August 1899

I had hoped that I would be able to speak with Gellert again last night.

I waited up late, the candle lit in my bedroom window in the hope he would see my signal, but all was dark from his side of the hedges as I took myself off to bed.

Morning came without a visit from him and I assumed that he had fallen asleep before I had lit the candle – after all, he had never ignored it before now, never missed an opportunity to find a way into my bed for even the briefest of moments – but I was even more surprised that he didn’t appear at all during the day either, not even after I sent numerous messages across to him encouraging him to join me.

I have grown so used to his presence as I go about the housework, or as I write my letters, or read my books, I found it strange to be without him. I was listless, a ship broken from my mooring, as I pottered about setting cleaning charms to work.

At last, when it was nearly dark outside, his owl brought back a note: _After dinner, come to me. I have something to tell you_.

Once our evening meal was complete, Ariana settled in her room with a book and Aberforth doing whatever it is he does of an evening, I headed across to the Professor’s house.

Gellert greeted me in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a wine goblet in his hand and his own meal in front of him. He offered me a goblet of my own as he finished his meal and I savoured the slight burn of alcohol under the rich dark flavour of the vintage. When he was finished eating, we headed upstairs, bringing the rest of the wine with us.

“Where were you today?” I asked him, as he closed his bedroom door behind us, setting the latch and the charms against any surprise visit from his great-aunt. “What is it you have to tell me?”

He had a guilty look about him and it made me nervous. But I wasn’t yet to realise that I had every right to be nervous, and he every right to be guilty.

“Pour us both more of that, will you?” He gestured at the wine.

We settled on the rug in the middle of the room, lounging against the pillows he had dragged from the bed, propped up against the piles of books he had slowly brought up from the library downstairs over the past few weeks.

“I realise, it was cruel of me to ask you to leave with me, to leave your siblings,” Gellert told me, taking a sip from his goblet. “I wasn’t thinking. I hadn’t had time to think. But I have now.”

“And what have you thought?” I asked.

He took a deep breath. “I want you to come with me. And I want us to bring Ariana.”

I choked on my wine. “I’m sorry, you want what?”

“You’ve said it yourself, that she can’t be left alone.”

“Yes,” I replied, “Because she’s dangerous.”

Gellert’s eyes were bright. “Yes, Albus, _I know_. But do you?”

He reached behind him, rifling through the pile of books and drawing one in the particular from near the bottom. I recognised it, after a moment, as one of the ones we had read together the very first time I came up to his room. The book on witch-burning and retaliatory actions. The one that had surprised him, that he blustered over that day when I asked him what he had just read…

My blood went cold, as I suddenly recalled what Aberforth had said the week after our mother died: _“Do you even know who our sister really is?_ What _our sister really is, Albus?”_

“Albus,” Gellert’s hand brushed against my thigh, breaking me from my reverie. “I think your sister is afflicted by an Obscurus.”

“An Obscurus?” I spoke, but it was as though my voice didn’t belong to me. “And you’ve known all this time?”

Gellert smiled sadly, his hand now stroking me kindly, reassuringly. “Known? No. But I have suspected, and observed. It seemed impossible, that someone could live so long with such a Dark creature inside. But your sister, she’s got that same power you have, it runs in your blood. And I’m sure Aberforth has--” he laughed now, a little darkly, “Well, maybe not Aberforth. Unless a proclivity for goats is a special power.”

I felt miles away from that room as I thought back on Ariana’s tantrums, her bursts of power. I wracked my brain for the facts I had learned at school about Obscurial children and was horrified that everything I knew about them just… _fitted_ her. “How could I have missed this?”

“Sometimes we ignore those things right in front of us, those truths we cannot bear to know,” he pronounced, pulling me into his arms and kissing the top of my head affectionately. “You love your sister so much that you could not bear to see what those Muggle boys had turned her into. And for that, you should be commended.”

We sat in silence then as I processed the gravity of the information that he had held back from me, that I had been so unwilling to see for myself, until at long last I found my voice again.

“So you wish to bring her with us?”

“She will be our greatest weapon in our cause, the proof of what hiding our magic has wrought,” he said, as though he were making a grand speech, before softening once again, “and I enjoy her company, at any rate.”

And thus, Gellert and I have set our path. Come the first of September, Aberforth will be away to Hogwarts and Gellert and I will begin our quest to bring wizardkind out from the shadows with Ariana by our side.

The three of us together, just like that portrait she painted. Perhaps she has the Sight too?

A.

* * *

Wednesday, 16 August 1899

I sent Aberforth to Diagon Alley to get his school things today.

When I handed him the little pouch of money that I had saved for his books and a new cauldron, he asked offhandedly if he should be picking up extras on Gellert’s behalf.

I looked at him incredulously, “Why would you do that?”

“Because I thought it might be a nice thing to do,” he responded, annoyed and only a little mocking, “seeing as he’s going to be in my classes and all. Don’t look at me like that, Professor Bagshot told me what that letter was about when she saw me with the goats at the stream last night.”

“Professor Bagshot told you?” I repeated, staring at him, “That Gellert is going to Hogwarts?”

“Why?” Aberforth narrowed his eyes, “Is there something you know that I don’t about it? Or are you just so shocked that maybe I know something about your _dear friend_ that you didn’t declare to the world while you and Ariana sing his praises over supper each night?”

“Oh,” I said, feigning surprise, but I could feel myself flush with annoyance and embarrassment at my brother’s words.

I realised that Gellert must have told the Professor that he had accepted the position. And why not? After all, it provides an alibi for him to leave Godric’s Hollow in two weeks’ time without questioning, without word being sent to his father at Nurmengard until we are long gone and too hard to trace.

“I hadn’t thought you knew yet,” I blustered, “Not to worry, Gellert has ordered his books by owl post and his other things are being sent on from Austria.”

“Fine,” Aberforth said, taking a handful of Floo Powder from the jar on the mantelpiece. “Just thought I’d ask.”

I need to find Gellert as soon as possible to make sure we have our story straight. We cannot risk being found out before we leave.

A.

* * *

Thursday, 17 August 1899

Despite our fears of being found out too soon, we resolved that Ariana should know sooner rather than later. We told her today, while Aberforth was off visiting the Prewetts for advice on a new fence for the goat’s shed.

Gellert came over after Aberforth had left, bringing with him a small gift wrapped with brown paper with a black ribbon.

We called Ariana into the front room and Gellert sat on the lounge with her as she opened the parcel to reveal a blue woollen travelling cloak. He draped it around her shoulders with a promise: “It will do a fine job until we find the real Cloak for you.”

I watched, enthralled, as he described our plans to her, not in great detail, but in terms she would understand: That we want for her to be able to walk about in the sunshine and see all the beautiful things in this world, to be unafraid of her magic, to be proud of it. That we want to find others who will help us achieve this goal. That we want to bring her with us, because she is special and different and so much more powerful that she understands.

Her face was a kaleidoscope of expression, from confusion to worry to happiness to excitement, as we explained our plan.

“But you must keep it secret,” I told her when Gellert was done. “Not even Aberforth can know, not until he’s safely at Hogwarts.”

“We’ll see him when he comes home for holidays, right?” she asked, looking from me to Gellert and back again, “He always comes home for holidays.”

“Of course,” Gellert smiled at her, stroking his hand through her long blonde hair. “Whatever you want, my dear sister.”

It amazes me how, in just six weeks, he really has become part of our family.

A.

* * *

Friday, 18 August 1899

I think Aberforth is growing suspicious. He’s certainly growing more callous in his remarks.

I’ve caught him twice today rifling through the papers at the desk in my room – the first time, just after breakfast, he said he was looking for spare quills, then after lunch he declared to have misplaced his ink.

As I told him off for second time, reminding him of my right to privacy and the importance of respecting others’ property, I noticed his gaze looking over my shoulder. “Are you even paying attention?”

“I don’t like that,” he cut me off, pointing at the portrait above my desk. “That creepy thing she made. I wish you and Grindelwald wouldn’t encourage her with all this talk of Hallows, you’re only going to disappoint her.”

“She’s allowed to have an imagination,” I countered.

“Imagination is fine, but I don’t like her obsession with all this and with _him_. She’s almost as bad as you are.” His tone became nasty now, “At least I don’t have to worry that he’ll take advantage of _her_ , she clearly doesn’t run to his tastes.”

His words incensed me and I was tempted to curse him, but I settled for removing him from my room with a well-placed knockback charm.

I keep having to remind myself: we have less than two weeks before we see him off at Kings Cross. Less than two weeks to keep up this charade.

Less than two weeks to freedom.

A.

* * *

Saturday, 19 August 1899

Gellert has replaced the map of Peverell’s Hill on his bedroom wall with one of Western Europe and has begun to mark the locations to target in the first tranche of our recruitment. He believes if we focus at first on finding a few loyal followers, just five or six true acolytes, we will be able to build our cause from there.

I spent some time this afternoon tracing my fingers over the drawing pins, trying to make sense of his notes – _Gregorovitch Zauberstäbe_ ; _Durmstrang classmates; Rosier - versteht unserer Sache?_ _Under the mountain; Sind andere versteckt?_ _Find the graveyards_ – as he penned letters to his contacts to inform them of our plans.

Gellert has proposed that we begin in France, as we both have acquaintances in Paris. Besides that, it’s a place I dearly wish to visit.

He has joked that we will have the Grand Tour of which I was deprived, but I fear that we will likely find our work will keep us far busier than the museums and ruins I had dreamed of at the start of summer.

Still, I love the idea of a few weeks based in Paris, where Gellert and I might be able to spare an afternoon to stroll along the river, arm-in-arm in that continental way, and our nights spent in those bohemian cafes with the artists and musicians the magical world, where no one will question our open affection for each other.

We can take Ariana to the _Exposition Universelle_ and see the magnificent new tower which has been constructed, then to an art gallery, then to a picnic in a magnificent garden.

And, most importantly, we can teach Ariana what it truly means to have such powerful magic inside her. We can learn together, teach her how to channel her dangerous powers, train her to join us in our cause.

We can build for her the world she deserves.

A.

* * *

> _“And then … you know what happened. Reality returned, in the form of my rough, unlettered, and infinitely more admirable brother. I did not want to hear the truths he shouted at me. I did not want to hear that I could not set forth to seek Hallows with a fragile and unstable sister in tow._
> 
> _“The argument became a fight. Grindelwald lost control. That which I had always sensed in him, though I pretended not to, now sprang into terrible being. And Ariana … after all my mother’s care and caution… lay dead upon the floor.”_
> 
> \- Albus Dumbledore, “Kings Cross”

* * *

Sunday, 20 August 1899

It is over.

Ariana is dead.

Gellert is gone.

I was such a fool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title lyric comes from ["Strangest Dream" by Rachel Eckroth](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IfnIcHDGTR0). I had the pleasure to see her support Rufus Wainwright on his All These Poses tour a few weeks ago (Poses being one of the major musical inspirations for this fic, as I mentioned in Chapter 5). As soon as I heard this song, my plans for this chapter came to mind and I knew I had to use it.
> 
> Thank you all for your support and comments on this emotional journey through the summer of 1899.
> 
> Only one little epilogue left to come...


	14. Here to relive your darkest moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year later, Albus reflects.

> _“Well, Grindelwald fled, as anyone but I could have predicted. He vanished, with his plans for seizing power, and his schemes for Muggle torture, and his dreams of the Deathly Hallows, dreams in which I had encouraged him and helped him. He ran, while I was left to bury my sister and learn to live with my guilt, and my terrible grief, the price of my shame.”_
> 
> \- Albus Dumbledore, “Kings Cross”

* * *

Sunday, 8 July 1900

It is one year to the day that my world changed forever. The day I met Gellert Grindelwald.

He was a wonder. He was a marvel.

But he was also a curse.

I feel a profound grief whenever I think of last summer. And it makes me sick to my stomach, the guilty thought that the one thing which brings that grief, more than anything, is not the loss of my mother, nor of my sister, but the loss of Gellert’s place by my side.

It has been 322 days since I last saw him.

I have spent hours since he left me, rummaging for answers through the pages of this journal, desperate to find the smallest clue that I might have missed. Seeking any hint that I could have known, could have stopped what happened.

I knew about his passion, his temper… but I never thought him capable… I never thought myself capable…

Over the past year, memories of that awful day have come back to me in unbidden flashes which send my mind reeling and my gut wrenching.

Sometimes, the memories come in the form of a scent – the cloying smell of the lilies in the evening as the three of us chased Aberforth outside, the burning flesh as Gellert used the Crutiatus curse on him, the fresh grass and the loamy earth when I was pushed aside and hit the ground hard.

Other times, they appear as an image before me – Ariana lying face-down on the garden path, her blonde hair an eerie halo around her in the light of the full moon, the look of fear in Aberforth’s eyes, the look of rage in Gellert’s, the blood pact abandoned on the grass between us.

But worst of all, the memories come in the form of Gellert’s voice, a sound that comes to me at night, haunting my dreams with the promise he whispered in my ear as I had wept over the body of my sister: “I will make this right, Albus. I swear to you, I will return and make this right.”

What I can’t remember is what I said to him in reply. All I know is that after I spoke, he was gone.

He did not return.

I like to console myself, in those dark hours, that what he said to me meant that he felt responsible for Ariana’s death. That he _was_ responsible for her death.

But this is just another lie I tell myself.

_Gellert alone killed Ariana. He never loved you. He only wanted your power, wanted to use you to access to your sister’s power._ _What you felt was an enchantment, an infatuation. It was not love._

It is easier to believe these things than to believe that I befriended a monster and that, perhaps, I turned out to be just as monstrous as him. That I sought the same supremacy he did and that it was my downfall. For these are truths of which I am deeply ashamed.

But the one thing I cannot bring myself to regret, no matter how the guilt sickens me, is that for one shining moment I knew what it was to be love with a beautiful, powerful young man who loved me in return.

And, Merlin help me, I love him still.

A.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This final chapter's title is taken from [Shake It Out by Florence + the Machine.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WbN0nX61rIs)
> 
> Back in December, I decided that I wanted to get back into writing for fun. I love writing for my day job, but drafting long reports gets tedious and I was desperately missing a creative outlet. After I saw FB:COG, I was reminded of how much I wanted to know what had happened in the summer of 1899 after reading Deathly Hallows back in 2007 and I saw the perfect opportunity – a story with a time limitation, with a clear canonical start and end, supported by moments from canon material.
> 
> Thank you to each of you who have joined me on this journey. Your words of support, your friendship, your kindness has been invaluable to me.


End file.
